


The Downward Spiral

by guuzenkamo



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Semblance of a Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guuzenkamo/pseuds/guuzenkamo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Izaya finds out Shizuo started taking drugs against his violent nature, he is determined to stop that nonsense. [temporarily discontinued]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my native language, so please forgive if something sounds really unnatural and corrections are very welcome. Also, Izaya is definitely OOC-ish, haha. Shizuo might be too, but there's a reason for it, I guess.

It starts with the unruly blond hair that scatters around his face and ends with the way his eyes glisten when he is enraged. Those are the two things that Izaya will admit are beautiful about Shizuo.

When it comes to the beauty of people, Izaya believes himself to be an expert, intimately familiar with the full spectrum of people’s feelings. Physical appearance alone can be eye-catching in theory and in practice, but the real beauty lies in emotion. It brings his humans alive, colouring them in a myriad of shades, turning them brighter, darker, crazier. People like to call some feelings “ugly”, but to Izaya all feelings are equal. He doesn’t discriminate and he cherishes them all. 

By comparison, Shizuo Heiwajima is quite boring. He is capable of at most three expressions — the raw fury of an animal trapped in a human body, the indifference of a stone that doesn’t fit anywhere and doesn’t give a fuck, and the reserved apprehension he feels when surrounded by real humans. No matter where he goes, he sticks out like a sore thumb, and he is painfully aware of it. Sometimes, the animal does manage to maintain the facade of being a human to near perfection, with a delivery so persuasive and powerful that Yuuhei Hanejima himself would be left envious. But give it enough time, and that mask inevitably cracks under the pressure of Shizuo’s feral nature. Izaya’s favorite pastime is making sure that happens, because Shizuo can’t go on pretending that he is human.

Namie has funny ideas of why Izaya goes to such lengths to get under Shizuo’s skin. She thinks Izaya is inexplicably fond of Shizuo, even if he denies it, and the reason why he excludes him from the rest is because he at least accepts that Shizuo is special. Izaya scoffs at the ridiculous notion; Shizuo is special, but for the worst reasons. Ideally, Shizuo shouldn’t exist.

His obsession with Shizuo, as Namie likes to call it — though that’s rich coming from someone who is obsessed with her brother — his so-called “obsession” comes in weird sprees where he finds the beast and plays with him until he exhausts him. When pressed hard, and Izaya is the one doing the heavy introspection, he concedes that these times are momentary lapses of reason, as he fails to correctly identify the reason why. Why must he antagonize the beast? He shrugs away the usual “because it’s fun” and “because Izaya wants to kill Shizuo”. The former is true, but not sufficient, and the latter is simply false. Death is too final; it is one of the few things that Izaya avoids when he plays games.

Shizuo hates him more than anyone else, yet he is also the most indifferent. It baffles Izaya how the animal manages to combine the two polar opposites, but it proves to be true, and that hurts the most. Izaya’s humans hate him, and they feel so strongly about him, and that’s beautiful. Let the hate keep flowing, let the eyes reflect it, Izaya feeds off hatred like he feeds off any other emotion. 

But lately, Shizuo’s hatred is different. It dies out quickly like a small flame on the end of a match, and once the light is gone, it’s empty and cold. Shizuo chases him until Izaya pretends to be cornered, hoping to unfold something more interesting, but the animal’s eyes inevitably betray the sudden loss of interest, and Shizuo stalks off, kicking up rocks and dirt under his shoes. Izaya tries to taunt him back, but Shizuo dismisses him with a wave of his hand, muttering threats of violence if “the flea ever steps foot in Ikebukuro again”.

It doesn’t really make any sense. These cat-and-mouse chases that never amount to anything. Izaya is annoyed, and little by little, he begins losing harder. With each time, he chooses to be caught a little earlier, hoping to catch the wrath of the animal before it has a chance to fade away. It’s risky, but he wants to, _needs_ to know. But Shizuo adapts; once the iron grip clasps around Izaya’s neck with a firm lock on the right arteries, it lets go before Izaya loses the ability to breathe. Sometimes Shizuo slips up and throws Izaya against the wall harder than ever, crushing the bones of his small body, but mostly he just lets go and adjusts the bartender suit, reciting the same old lines about “better not coming to Ikebukuro” that Izaya so tired of hearing.

At first, Izaya suspects it has to do with Shizuo’s fixation on never killing anybody. It’s admirable, really, and probably the only thing he can agree on with the beast. But if that were the case, shouldn’t Izaya deserve at least a healthy beating? He has seen the poor thugs Shizuo brings to Shinra, having reduced them to a pitiful mess. Why must Shizuo exclude him? Izaya is sure Shizuo hates him more than anyone else.

“The rabbit hole,” Namie speaks up, her keen eyes following Izaya’s tracing around the room.

“Enlighten me,” Izaya smiles. Namie’s ideas are at least worth listening to, if only for the opportunity to mock her.

“You’re going further down the rabbit hole. Your interest in Heiwajima was never healthy from start, and it keeps growing stronger. This won’t end well.”

There is a triumphant smirk on her face that reads “I told you so”, and Izaya wants to erase it. He could very easily destroy the basis of her existence, but he loves Namie too much. He doesn’t ever give special treatment to anyone, but if he did, Namie would definitely be on the list of his favorite humans. This love doesn’t allow him to stay angry with her.

He sits down and reclines in his chair, staring off into the pretty skyscrapers of the city.

“Why won’t he beat me up?” 

“The newfound taste for masochism is cute. Why do you want to be beaten up?” 

“Otherwise, it complicates things,” Izaya sighs. “I was content with the danger. Now that I know it’s not there, it’s not the same.”

“You mean it complicates Heiwajima. You were content thinking he was simple.”

Izaya groans in response because her words hit the mark, and he is annoyed that she pinpoints the exact reason why he’s unsettled. Annoyed, but impressed, and he gives her a loving look that earns him nothing but a roll of Namie’s pretty eyes.

“Does it mean I have to change the rules of the game?” he wonders out loud. 

Maybe it is time to change the battlefield. Maybe they have exhausted the current one. If Shizu-chan is more complicated than what Izaya believed, shouldn’t he be subject to a different kind of game, a more mental one?

“Do you even know what kind of game you’re playing?” Namie shoots back.

“Namie, dear, you’re far too smart for this job.”

“Of course,” she looks at him with arrogance. “I deserve a raise.”

“Don’t get hasty now,” Izaya laughs heartily. “You know your paycheck is generous.”

“Have you asked him why?”

“No, I haven’t. How often do you find yourself talking to animals?”

“You should. Heiwajima is nothing if not straightforward. His pathetic emotions practically splatter across his simple face, all two of them,” Namie says coldly.

Namie is harsh, but she’s fair, and yet it still rubs Izaya the wrong way to hear her talk down on Shizu-chan. He spins his chair around, suppressing the urge to disagree, because the words that were spoken are true. It doesn’t escape Namie’s attention — his displeasure at the choice of her words — but she takes mercy on him and says nothing, turning back to her computer. 

She is right, Izaya reasons. He grabs his fur-coat and bids her goodbye, pouting at the way her face lights up when she realizes he’s leaving.

!

Shizuo might possibly be the easiest person to find, given any location and time. Izaya hears the roars of the beast from kilometers away and skips his way towards the source, replaying various scenarios in his mind. 

The most plausible scenario is Shizu-chan ignoring his question and leaving. Then Izaya will follow and pester him until the animal gives in and plays along. Izaya is a man of many talents and traits, but persistence is one of his strongest suits. When Shizuo is fed up, he will either cave in and answer, or he’ll finally snap and beat him to a pulp. Either way, Izaya figures, he gets what he wants. 

There is no way to lose, or so Izaya thinks, as he stands across the street, and Shizuo’s eyes immediately fix on him. Izaya smiles wider, greeting him with the happiest of smirks, because he really is happy to see his favorite animal. Within seconds, Shizuo roars the all too familiar “Izaya-kun” and charges him, and Izaya leads him away from the nosy crowd, somewhere more private and secluded. Shizuo would never talk to him where others can see.

The streets of Ikebukuro come together to make one of his favorite places in the world. He acknowledges that he must owe a lot of the fondness to the distinct feeling of nostalgia, but he wants to think they are remarkable in an objective sense, too. Long, windy passages intertwining and creating a maze, where after many years of exploring Izaya continues to discover new nooks and crannies, and today he settles on a quiet park next to a residential area with not a single soul in the field of vision. He ducks under an alcove with a few benches underneath and abruptly stops, only to duck lower to dodge the next flying object. A metal pipe, this time. It bounces off the alcove’s wall and lands on the concrete with a loud clink.

Shizuo catches up, spots Izaya sitting on the bench, his legs dangling free, and freezes. Izaya recognizes the look; it speaks “befuddled and confused”, he has seen it a lot recently, ever since he started getting caught on purpose. Shizuo staggers backwards, but Izaya drawls out a taunt, “What’s wrong, beast? Didn’t you promise to make sure you keep me out of Ikebukuro for good?”, and Shizuo darts forward to grab him by the neck.

“Why do you even bother, Shizu-chan?” Izaya smiles against the crushing pain in his neck. Shizuo’s already out of breath, even though they haven’t run for long at all. 

“Stop fucking coming here!” Shizuo growls. 

“I’ll stop if you answer me,” Izaya lies. “Why won’t you hurt me?”

The fingers around his neck are tight, and Izaya wonders if Shizuo realizes how deadly his grasp is. If it goes on any longer, he is sure to pass out. He’s learned by now that will never happen.

As if by script, the grip loosens, and Shizuo stares at him in adamance.

“Come on, Shizu-chan. You’re losing a lot of cred here,” Izaya laughs. “I’ve given you so many chances to kill me. Take one.”

“No,” Shizuo spits.

“Why not?”

Namie’s advice is failing horribly. Shizuo is undeniably straightforward when he speaks, but he can always choose to say nothing. His reluctance to say anything just fuels Izaya’s curiosity more.

“Why not, Shizu-chan?” Izaya repeats. “And stop scowling like that, we both know you don’t bite.”

It might have been the wrong thing to say, because Shizuo lifts him by the shirt and sinks his teeth into his shoulder. Izaya suppresses a gasp and quietly endures the pain; after all, he’s been asking for it so long. He wonders if Shizuo will bite a chunk off, and it certainly feels that way, but before he can contemplate reaching for a blade, Shizuo withdraws, and no real damage is done. It still hurts like no tomorrow, though.

“Happy now?” Shizuo coughs out, turning his gaze away. 

Izaya silently covers his burning shoulder with his hand and shakes his head.

“Very funny,” he smiles against the pain. “But this is nothing, and you know it. Answer me; I won’t leave you alone until you give me something.”

Shizuo groans and shoves him back down on the bench, then plops down next to him. Izaya blinks in surprise, gently massages his abused shoulder and swallows his excitement. 

Shizu-chan sure looks like he’s going to talk.

“I’ve been faking it,” Shizuo admits after a long pause, his voice even and calm. “I’m actually not that angry anymore.”

“Like I’d believe that,” Izaya raises an eyebrow. “Someone like you having control?”

“Yeah, it’s not by willpower,” Shizuo grits his teeth. “I’ve been taking drugs. To… to reduce my anger, I guess. I don’t know how they work. They calm me down.”

Izaya feels like the world is falling apart around him. The idea of Shizu-chan taking drugs to change himself unnerves him, and to his own surprise, he finds himself seething with anger. He smooths out his features before his face gives away his shock.

“If that’s true, why keep up the facade? Just assume your new fake identity and live like the true mindless zombie that you are,” Izaya says, making sure to communicate the full extent of the contempt he is feeling.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about it myself, ever since you started being retarded and getting caught. I think I just didn’t want you to know. Haven’t figured out why I care, though,” Shizuo adds, and his hands fumble to light a cigarette.

Izaya doesn’t understand. It makes no sense to desire change, to go through with it through the worst means possible and then continue living the same old way. Shizuo is always backwards in some way, isn’t he? He can’t even change right.

“You’re judging,” Shizuo puffs away cigarette smoke and lets out an awkward chuckle, and it sounds unbelievably pathetic. It’s so pathetic Izaya wants to beat Shizuo senseless. “I knew you would. It’s a sign of weakness, right? Resorting to drugs?”

Izaya ignores him, because he finally realizes why he is heating up like a boiler. Shizuo looks _pitiful_. He cannot stand the sight of a tamed beast. The uncanny lack of temper, the awkward chuckles, it all feels wrong. Before he can stop himself, Izaya bolts to his feet to stand in front of Shizuo, his sharpest blade against the other’s neck. 

“Who gives you those drugs?” he demands. Ordinary drugs wouldn’t work on Shizuo, and Izaya knows there is something else at play here.

Shizuo stares at him, taken aback, but doesn’t move. 

“Shinra’s dad,” he finally says. “His clinic did a bunch of experiments on me.”

“Shinra’s okay with this?”

“Was his suggestion,” Shizuo shrugs and brings the cigarette to his lips, maneuvering his arm around Izaya’s, because he’s still holding the knife to his neck. “Celty goes there, too, you know?” he adds, as if that even means anything to Izaya.

“This isn’t natural,” Izaya says, matter-of-factly, and Shizuo doesn’t disagree, only blows smoke into his face. Izaya is too angry to care.

He sits back down, two very specific thoughts dancing in his mind. Make sure Shinra regrets this. Find a way to cut off Shizuo’s drug supply. Placebos? Izaya would have to orchestrate something complicated if he were to mess with Shingen Kishitani. The man has a lot of cunning, after all.

“Fuck,” Izaya lets out. Why did the monster have to go and do all this? 

“Why so upset, flea?” Shizuo asks, rubbing the back of his head. He’s been so serene, Izaya feels like vomiting. “You rarely cuss.”

That’s true; Izaya prefers eloquence to the usual ways of expressing one’s frustration, but for this he has no words.

Izaya can’t bear to stay there any longer. He gives Shizuo one last disdainful look, before he gets up to his feet and hurries to leave. 

“You’re disgusting,” he informs him before leaving, feeling a tinge of happiness when he sees the man’s shoulders hunch up in defense, but the triumph is short-lived, and Izaya feels worse than he did before.

!

The next day, he decides to start with messing up Shizuo’s existing supply. Punishing Shinra for doing something so stupid will come later, since Izaya foresees a need for the young doctor’s services.

There is a strange gnawing feeling that he struggles to rein in, and Izaya recognizes it to be ordinary anger. He doesn’t care if Shizuo wanted this. Shinra stepped way out of line. Using Shizuo’s self-conscious stupidity about being a monster against him and taking advantage of him for the sake of his father’s experiments? Shinra has always lacked an active interest in humans, but this seems too much even for someone as indifferent as him. Izaya pauses to reconsider that thought. Shizuo isn’t human, is he? But he’s _technically_ a human, a citizen of Japan, with a birth certificate and everything. Hell, to _Shinra_ , Shizuo is supposed to be human. Izaya scoffs, remembering all the lectures he’s had to endure from the perverted doctor on the matter of him antagonizing Shizuo too much. 

Izaya temporarily shelfs his dissatisfaction and focuses on going through with the first part of his plan. Shizuo is dumb, but not dumb enough not to notice that his pills have changed in appearance, so Izaya needs a sample as a model for the replacement pills. Breaking into the monster’s apartment is easy enough, finding a pharmacologist who will cook up the pills for him is trickier. Izaya has a few contacts, though, and he’s going to put them to work.

Namie notices the slight looks of pains Izaya can’t hide and raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve been bitten,” Izaya explains, as he drums away at the keyboard.

“Had it coming.” 

Namie smiles in a way that only she does. Izaya thinks it’s the embodiment of the German word _schadenfreude_. 

“Did he fess up?”

“Yes, and as you can see, I’m not the least bit happy with the information.”

“I take it I have work to do, then.”

“Mhm,” Izaya intones and hands her a piece of paper with a phone number. “I’ll need his lab to be ready by midnight. Figure out what he wants and then text me.”

“Where are you going?” Namie frowns, but waves her hand. “Ah, no matter.”

“Glad to see you’re concerned,” Izaya smiles sweetly and heads for the door.

According to the Dollars’ forums, Shizuo was last spotted near Simon’s place. That gives Izaya plenty of time to nick a pill or two. He dislikes doing legwork, but there is no one else he can trust to do this. Shizuo’s apartment is like a beast’s lair, and only the bravest could tread there. Izaya just so happens to be fearless when he’s this excited.

In the cab on the way to the place, Izaya thinks about how uncharacteristically sloppy he has been. He should have noticed the change in Shizuo’s movements. The beast has been slower and more sluggish, clearly due to the restriction of the drugs, but Izaya foolishly attributed it to the weird notion that Shizuo had stopped wanting to kill him. He thought it was a change in Shizuo’s mind, but it turned out to be way simpler — a chemical change. 

The truth grates at his nerves, because Izaya suspects there was an element of wishful thinking somewhere there. Had it been anyone else, he would have noticed. He resolves not to make the same mistake again, after he fixes the beast and restores the previous balance of Ikebukuro’s greatest rivalry. 

He stops the cab a few blocks away from the actual place and orders the driver to wait for him to come back. He doesn’t plan to linger longer than necessary, because despite whatever drugs Shizuo is taking, his smell for the “flea” hasn’t changed one bit. Izaya has no plans to be interrupted for yet another fruitless chase; it’d only remind him of what once was and make him angrier.

There aren’t too many people around when Izaya approaches the right apartment building. He counts windows from the left and finds the window he needs. It’s on the third floor, though, and while that’s no issue, the windows happen to face the playground where a few children are running around enjoying the Saturday afternoon. His left arm is more than a little impaired, too, since the pain from the bite is still sharp. 

Izaya figures he has to put his social engineering skills to use.

He rings up the apartment number that should belong to Shizuo’s neighbor. The dial tone goes for a few moments, before there’s a mechanical click, and a voice says, “Yes?”.

“Oh, hi, is this Kawashima-san?” Izaya reads the name off the plate. “I’m a friend of Shizu-chan’s.”

“S-Shizu-chan’s?” the voice stutters. “Heiwajima Shizuo’s?”

“Yes, yes. He’s my best friend from high school. Actually, he sent me to pick up a new set of those bartender clothes for him because he accidentally fell into a construction site and gotten reaaal messed up.”

“Uh…”

“But he forgot to give me his keys, and I can’t enter!” Izaya exclaims. “We’re both so absent-minded. I called him, and he said Kawashima-san will _definitely_ let me in.” Izaya stresses out the part about definitely, because he wants the man to be afraid of potential consequences of going against Shizuo Heiwajima.

“Of course,” the man hurries to reply. “Come in, come in.”

The heavy metal door opens with an ugly ear-cutting sound, and Izaya quickly slips in. He chuckles a little to himself, because as he predicted, there is no way Shizuo’s neighbors would ever dream about crossing him. Besides, Izaya thinks, it’s not like the idea that someone might steal from Shizuo’s apartment is realistic. The beast could probably leave his door unlocked, for no one would really dare enter. (Izaya also doubts there is much to steal from the poor soul working as a bodyguard, but that’s beside the point.)

The door is locked, however, but before Izaya can reach for his lock-pick, the door to his right creaks open, and a man peeks out. Must be Kawashima.

“Forget the keys to his apartment too?” he asks, quite brave for a man of his complexion. Balding, short and with a beer gut, he doesn’t seem much of a threat.

“Yeah,” Izaya smiles sheepishly, putting on his best innocent face and calculating the ways to get rid of the man.

“I see. I got the keys to his apartment,” he says, scratching his head. “But mind if I call Heiwajima to confirm?”

Izaya narrows his eyes. This could go horribly wrong, and he doesn’t appreciate the nosiness of this neighbor.

“Ah, just kidding,” the man slaps his belly. “Here, knock yourself out,” and he extends his hand out with a set of keys.

“Change your mind?” Izaya asks, feigning disinterest, because the man’s behavior is a bit too erratic for his taste.

“You think I don’t know who you are?” the man cackles. “You’re that guy that Heiwajima always hunts. I am part of Dollars too, you know.”

Everyone and their grandmother is a Dollar these days…

“Ah, you’re so well-informed! If you know that much, why are you letting me in?” Izaya smiles, quickly snatching the offered key-set out of the man’s fingers. Whatever the reasoning, it saves him the bother of picking a lock.

“’Cause I can’t stand the guy!” Kawashima complains. “He’s way too destructive. He’s got mental problems!”

“That he does,” Izaya agrees. He pauses for a second, then takes a few bills out of his wallet and hands them to the man. “Here, for your discretion and help,” he winks and slips into Shizuo’s apartment.

The place is poor and empty, just like he imagined, with minimum amount of furniture. Izaya walks around slowly, taking in the view. An old couch propped against the wall, a simple TV box in front of it. A simple kitchen set, surprisingly neat and clean. Not a single dirty dish. Maybe Shizuo rarely eats here, Izaya shrugs. He never pegged Shizuo to be the type to care about cleanliness, but the apartment looks tidy, aside from a stray newspaper on the kitchen counter and a few pieces of clothing on the couch.

The place is alike its owner, boring and unimaginative, and Izaya scrunches up his nose. Namie’s words about ‘baseless obsessions’ creep up in his mind, and he stops to wonder why he repeatedly goes to such lengths for someone like Shizu-chan. Right in the middle of the beast’s lair isn’t the best place for a round of introspection, though, so Izaya hurries up to the bathroom. He knows Shizuo diligently tries to follow the norms of humans, so he bets on the drugs to be under the sink or behind the mirror. 

After careful inspection, though, the drugs are nowhere to be found. All he finds is a large supply of bandages and alcohol and general bathroom accessories.

Concerned, Izaya heads for the bedroom, but the bedroom is empty, too. There is a modest queen-sized bed with two nightstands, and Izaya shakes his head at the austerity of Shizu-chan’s place. Even the smallest of Izaya’s three apartments looks a world better than this, but he supposes he places more importance on comfort than the simpleton he’s so intent on fixing.

Double-checking all plausible spots, Izaya decides that Shizuo must carry the drugs on him, or the clinic administers them weekly or something. The former seems more likely, because Izaya doubts that any given drug would last a whole week against Shizuo’s abnormal body, and daily visits are probably out of the question. 

Izaya sits down on the couch, contemplating the next course of events. He briefly considers hiding somewhere in the apartment, waiting for the beast to come back and fall asleep to go through his belongings. But that seems risky, and Izaya doesn’t like waiting for too long. It’s inefficient use of his time. Not to mention the fact that the apartment is so plain and small, there are practically no real places to hide.

Before Izaya can settle on anything concrete, there is a muffled voice from behind the door, and a surge of adrenaline flows through him. There is literally nowhere to hide, even for a small frame like his, so he has to play the next few moments right. 

Shizuo stumbles in, wide-eyed at the door that just slides open with a cry of the metal hinges. His hair is a wet mess, and Izaya quickly looks at the small window at the end of the room. It’s raining gray and nasty outside. There is a distant roar of thunder.

“Hey, Shizu-chan,” Izaya speaks up before the blond can spot him on his own. It’s always better to be in control of a situation. “Sorry I let myself in,” he smiles apologetically.

Shizuo blinks, then frowns, opens his mouth and closes it. “Huh, flea. Get out of here,” he finally mutters. “This is Ikebukuro, too, y’know.” He throws his set of keys on the counter and runs his hand through the wet hair, ruffling it. 

Izaya ignores him, instead eyeing him intently, more specifically the clothes Shizuo is wearing. He has seen that annoying uniform so many times before, but he never had a reason to count the pockets. Four on the pants, front and back, two on the vest, maybe some on the inside. How small would the container have to be? Can Shizuo really carry a bottle of drugs, without them bulging visibly? He lowers his gaze, analyzing the pockets on the pants.

“Oi,” Shizuo speaks up, taking a step back. “The fuck you staring at?”

Izaya looks up and realizes what it must have looked like; he was staring at Shizuo’s crotch. 

“Nothing,” Izaya says automatically. “How was your day?” he adds. He needs to buy some time to come up with a plan. 

“How was my day?” Shizuo repeats. “How was my fucking day? Are we really doing this? Get the hell out, flea. Just because I don’t beat shit up anymore doesn’t mean…”

“Don’t be so rude, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chides, interrupting the stream of angry words. “I gave it some thought, you know? I figure if you’re going to be all peaceful and human-like now, we can be a little friendlier with each other.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Shizuo gives a small grin, obviously amused by the craziness of Izaya’s words. “I can be nice, though. Asking you real nicely right now, please get the fuck out of my goddamn apartment.”

“That’s not very nice at all,” Izaya pouts, but gets up and makes a motion to leave.

“Why did you come here in the first place? Did you do something to my apartment? You didn’t put a bomb or set me up to die of carbon monoxide poisoning, did you?” Shizuo looks at him suspiciously. “That’d affect other people.”

What a thoughtful monster.

“I came here to talk,” Izaya whines, doing his best to look aggrieved. “I was really happy that Shizu-chan changed, you know? I thought it was our chance to make amends for all the past fighting.”

He gives Shizuo his best serious face, with a touch of pleading sorrow in the eyes. His acting is doing work, because Shizuo looks a little guilty. The blond rubs the back of his head, clearly processing the information. 

“Well, I suppose we could… wait, what? Are you really going to apologize or some shit? Did you start taking drugs, too? Could drugs even make a person less shitty?”

Shizuo’s thought process is idiotic — as if Izaya would ever take drugs to alter his thoughts or body. But this is going somewhere. He’s not sure where yet, but he sits back down on the couch. He’s feeling pretty confident he can cook something up.

“We could talk, right?” Izaya insists. “Come on, it’s harmless.”

Shizuo doesn’t move an inch, though, and Izaya inwardly rolls his eyes. The animal instinct is too powerful a thing, it shouldn’t exist. 

“Look.” Izaya slowly slides his hand into the pocket of his coat, and Shizuo tenses, clearly expecting an attack. “One, two, three —” Izaya starts laying out switchblades on the poor excuse for a coffee table in front of the couch. “Four, five. Voilà, I’m fully disarmed.”

There’s one last hidden blade, of course, but it’s not like Shizuo is going to search his body. 

“Fine,” Shizuo yields, swipes up the blades off the table and takes to them to the kitchen counter, away from their owner. “But you order me a pizza or something. I’m starving.”

“Sure thing,” Izaya agrees without a second thought, reaching for his phone. 

It only takes a second to look up a nearby pizza place.

“You’re lucky my meds are so strong,” Shizuo mutters, crashing on the end of the couch. “I used to only see red with you around.”

Izaya finishes the order and hangs up, all the while contemplating the next sequence of events. That Shizuo hasn’t yet thrown him out by the back of his head is a miracle in itself, but Izaya is planning to win the lottery today. He needs to access the clothes Shizuo’s wearing, without raising suspicion. 

“Raining outside, eh?” Izaya lightly nods in Shizuo’s general direction. “You should change; your clothes are all wet.”

Shizuo sizes himself up, brushes off raindrops from his sleeves and shrugs. “It’s fine.” Brown eyes narrow in suspicion. “Well, what did you want to talk about? Hurry up and get it over with before the pizza gets here.”

“What, I don’t get to eat the pizza I order?” Izaya frowns. “What an awful start to making amends.”

“You’re the only one who wants to make amends, I’m still undecided,” Shizuo says dryly, loosening his bow-tie. “I don’t really believe you, anyway.”

“You don’t?” 

“’course not,” Shizuo scoffs. “As if there’s an ounce of good in you. You’re clearly scheming something, I just don’t know what yet. Good to keep an eye on you, though. If you have to be in ‘bukuro, here’s probably the best place. I can take you on, after all,” he says with a confident smirk.

Izaya pouts, and a part of him feels genuinely irked. Why are people so hellbent about him being completely evil? If he had to choose an alignment, he’d go with Chaotic Neutral, dipping in both good and evil at whim. It’s not like he hasn’t done things that people would call stereotypically good before. Granted, his motivations are almost always based in his own interest, but it’s not like his core is entirely misaligned. For example, it was against his interests to let little Akane get kidnapped, and he went as far as to orchestrate a complicated series of events where she ended up under Shizu-chan’s guaranteed protection. Izaya’s small shreds of conscience couldn’t really leave a child wandering around in the dark shadows of the city. He also doesn’t appreciate it when young humans are hurt beyond repair or, even worse, killed, because everyone needs time and a chance to live up to their full potential.

“Don’t look so sullen,” Shizuo rolls his eyes, staring at the TV box. “You’re pretty weird lately. Something happen to you? Some sketchy deal gone wrong?”

“You’re one to talk about weird,” Izaya snaps, in a tone sharper than he was going for. “Tell me, Shizu-chan, are you really happy these days? Those drugs do you wonders?”

Shizuo glares daggers at him, picking up on the judgment. “You said you liked the new me, don’t go changing your story now. But yes, if you must know, I am fairly happy. I don’t hurt people anymore, and I can relax a little.”

“But it’s fake,” Izaya says pointedly. “And Shinra, how the hell did he convince you to do this?”

“Convince me?” Shizuo blinks, shifting in his seat. “I came to him myself. Was looking for a solution, and this was just the thing.”

Izaya brushes away his resurfacing anger with Shinra, because he needs to focus at the task at hand. Shizu-chan doesn’t look like he’s planning to change out of his wet clothes (which in itself is really weird), so he ponders the alternatives. Various ideas run through his mind, all dirtier than the other, and not really by his rulebook, even though he doesn’t really have one. He has drugged people before, but one, he doesn’t really think Shizuo is susceptible to normal sleeping pills; two, it kind of contradicts the entirety of this whole thing. Izaya likes a certain structure to his games, and drugging someone whom he wants to be free of drugs seems a little strange, not how he wants to see this unfold. 

The last thing on the list is seduction. Izaya looks at the frowning blond and dismisses the idea. There is no way Shizu-chan’s into men — Izaya is pretty sure he has seen him staring at ladies. And even if he were, there is too much history between them. Izaya has charmed people against all odds before, but Shizu-chan is in the league of his own when it comes to “impossible”.

But it can’t hurt to try, right? Before Izaya can stop himself and re-evaluate things, he finds himself filling up with excitement at the prospect of reaching something unattainable. He is a gambling man, and the idea that he could win against all odds fires him up beyond the point of return.

He scoots a little closer and swallows, because his throat feels suddenly dry. Shizuo’s stare is fixed on the TV — there is some documentary about lions playing, of course, Shizu-chan would watch something like that — and Izaya slides even closer, close enough that if the blond turned his head towards him, he’d find the “flea” right at the level of his shoulder, looking up at him like a middle-school girl with a crush.

Shizuo does just that. He turns, and their eyes lock, the tension in the air skyrocketing. Izaya’s heart threatens to jump out of the ribcage, and he wonders if the sudden silence in the room allows for his heavy heartbeat to be heard. Shizuo is still staring with a blank expression, and Izaya is inwardly panicking. He probably needs to say something, but his tongue is numb. His worst attempt at seduction yet, he desperately needs to lean in even closer and whisper something, anything would do at this point, but his body is too frozen to move. He didn’t think this through.

Shizuo clears his throat, breaking the taut moment, and backs away slightly. “Uh, flea… are you, like, into me or something?”

“Namie-san thinks so,” he says, before he can even comprehend what he’s saying. “I disagree, though. I hate you so very much!” Izaya hurries to add, but the damage is done. Shizuo is looking at him like Izaya is an alien.

“Is that why you were staring at my…?”

No, Izaya thinks. That’s really not why he was staring. 

“And is that why you antagonize me so much? All these years?”

No, again. This is all wrong.

Shizuo looks like he is processing the “news”, but before Izaya can correct him, there is a sound of the doorbell and Shizuo rushes to answer. Izaya is left sitting on the couch, dumbfounded.

It didn’t go horrible, he decides after a quick thought. It really didn’t. Shizuo didn’t punch him — though that’s probably thanks to the drugs — and he seemed like he wasn’t _exactly_ horrified at the idea. Are the drugs even on him, though? Is this mission worth the trouble? In Shizuo’s mind, right now, Izaya is some pining little shit who’s been harassing him because of certain harbored feelings or something. Izaya isn’t quite sure he is all too happy with that kind of portrayal of himself. But the end justifies the means, Izaya reminds himself, and he straightens his back. The signs are promising, and he can worry about the consequences after.

Shizuo comes back with a large pizza box, and he looks positively mortified. His feet shuffle, he slowly sits down on the very edge of the couch and puts the box on the table. Avoids Izaya’s gaze, too.

“Maybe you should go—” Shizuo starts, his voice small, but Izaya lunges forward and wraps his arms around the stiff shoulders. He buries his nose in Shizuo’s neck and mentally counts to five. Shizuo smells of cigarettes, and his skin is really soft under his lips. On five, he finds that he is still alive and whole, and the person in his arms is akin to a marble statue, cold and frozen. Shizuo’s shirt is still soaking wet, and Izaya distantly wonders why the hell he refused to change into dry clothes.

The still moment doesn’t last long. Shizuo turns to face him, wide-eyed and flustered, and shoves forward for their lips to meet. There is a bang of teeth, and Izaya ows, but quickly forgets about it when Shizuo sticks his tongue in. The kiss is forced, because Shizuo really has no idea what he’s doing. Izaya attempts to take control of it — he might as well try to enjoy this if it’s happening — but Shizuo forces him down and refuses to surrender. His fingers close around Izaya’s neck like a snake, and for one terrifying second Izaya wonders if he messed up, if Shizuo is going to wake up from the stupor and actually kill him for pulling something like this, but the grasp isn’t too hurtful, it’s just restrictive. He is completely pinned into the couch, and Shizuo is sitting on top of him, assaulting his mouth. 

Cold raindrops fall off Shizuo’s disheveled hair strands, landing on Izaya’s face.

Do I really want this? Did I really plan this? Izaya wonders, as he answers the raw kiss. It’s passionate and fast, like a strong current that you can’t swim against, and Izaya is struggling to keep up with it. He keeps his eyes wide open, watching Shizu-chan’s tightly shut eyelids. There is a frown on the man’s face, but judging from the way he is pressed against him, Shizuo is really into it.

Does Shizu-chan really want this? He _is_ technically drugged, his emotions are not exactly real. 

He doesn’t have time to contemplate the ethics of the situation, because Shizuo’s hand slides underneath his shirt, and Izaya can’t stop a small moan from coming out, panic and warmth unfurling in his chest. He is supposed to be the one in control, not the monster, and he really just wanted a make-out session where he could freely grope. This seems like too much fire, and Izaya wants to escape the burning building before it falls apart.

“S-Shizu-chan, stop,” he lets out breathlessly and inwardly cringes at the weakness in his voice. 

His plea is ignored, but it breaks the kiss, and Shizuo moves down to nibble on his neck. Teeth rake his skin, and Izaya remembers the bite from the night before and prays that there isn’t a repeat. Their bodies are now completely joined, with Shizuo’s heavy weight collapsing on top of him, and Izaya starts to slowly explore the other body. He traces Shizuo’s arms, his back, bites his own lip to hold down the moans that want to escape his throat because Shizuo is apparently really good at kissing necks and collarbones. He cups Shizuo’s butt, finding the back pockets empty, then slips them in between their bodies and, in the front of the pants, he finally finds the bulge he is looking for. 

Except, it’s not what he was looking for. Izaya feels his face wash with heat, realizing what it is, and quickly withdraws his fingers to search elsewhere. Finally, he thinks he got it. It’s a small bottle, but he wiggles it out of the pocket and deftly hides it in his own. Now he just needs to stop Shizuo from devouring him, and Izaya thinks the world must have gone crazy, because who would have thought that Shizu-chan would jump at the first opportunity to kiss him?

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya exclaims and thrusts his hands into the man’s chest. Shizuo lifts himself up by his arms and blinks at him, lust burning between his eyelashes. “Please stop, would you? I hugged you because you looked like you needed a hug, not because I wanted to be taken advantage of.”

Ah, the pained eyes of a betrayed animal. Shizuo looks truly beautiful with his expression so hurt, and Izaya wants to show his appreciation. He resists the urge to caress Shizuo’s cheek, though, because that would send mixed signals he isn't prepared to deal with. 

“I-I thought… I thought you wanted this?” Shizuo stutters, and Izaya’s chest weirdly constricts.

“I really didn’t,” Izaya lifts his shoulders in a gentle shrug. “You misunderstood me.”

Shizuo jerks back like he got electrocuted, and Izaya jumps to his feet, refreshed and full of energy. He’s in control again.

“Well, making amends didn’t go too bad, did it?” Izaya chuckles. “I think we could be friends in no time.” It’s too bad he can’t see Shizuo’s eyes anymore; the animal is looking down, hiding them underneath the scattered bangs.

Izaya adjusts his clothes and heads for the door, lightly rubbing his overstimulated neck. There’s a million of goosebumps on his body right now, but he attributes it to the fact that he has achieved the impossible. 

His job is done — and through what means! — it’s well before midnight, and Namie has probably gotten a hold of the pharmacologist by now. He can’t find it in himself to look at Shizuo one last time before leaving, and it strikes him as strange, because, well, since when does Izaya Orihara not enjoy the reactions to his stunts?

The door shuts behind him, and Izaya leans against it, evening out his breath. He clutches the small bottle that’s resting in his pocket and realizes that his fingers are trembling. His body kind of betrayed him, didn’t it? He shakes his head, irritated at the dissonance between the mind and the body, but the end justifies the means, and he skips down the stairs, calculating how much money he probably owes the cab driver. 

He tries not to think of the fact that he got so flustered, he’s completely forgotten about his knives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking Izaya down the spiral, so the mood is different from the first chapter. There's too much dialogue, but it is what it is.

There’s a bit of irony in the fact that Izaya has received more injuries from the new “peaceful” Shizuo than ever before. His shoulder is still wounded, to the point where he stifles a groan every time he tries to lift his arm, his lips are sore and his neck is branded by teeth marks and bruises.

Izaya carefully covers the spots with a concealer that he bought at a makeup store right after escaping the monster’s den. His lips are twisted in a permanent grin, and he periodically giggles to himself over his thoughts. People around him stare and take distance, because he’s in one of those moods where he must resemble a madman. But he is so amused, he can barely contain himself. It’s incredibly entertaining that Shizu-chan apparently doesn’t mind the idea of fucking him. 

It’s entertaining, but also dangerous, he decides. He doesn’t want the monster to obsess over what happened, because it isn’t really that big of a deal. Things don’t need to change between them because of something so trivial. Shizuo is animal-like, after all; if that part of him can’t manifest itself in anger, suppressed by drugs, it will manifest in other aspects, like lust and other primal instincts. Perhaps the drugs can be Shizuo’s great excuse for what happened. Izaya feels charitable, even benevolent. He decides he’ll save the blond from having to justify it, writing it off as a hiccup. He won’t even taunt him about it, or at least try not to, Izaya can’t make promises.

The pills are small against his palm, colored light blue, with a crude “S” carved on each. Namie has gotten back to him, giving him the new address of his old acquaintance’s lab. The old man wants money in return, and Izaya isn’t surprised, because it’d be kind of interesting if the corrupted pharmacologist that was involved in the distribution of illegal drugs wanted something other than loads of cash.

That’s his next destination, and while he’s busy taking care of that, he instructs Namie to find someone to keep an eye on Shizuo. Any moment now the monster will realize that his pills are gone, and he’ll either guess it was Izaya’s doing, or he’ll think he simply misplaced the pills. Izaya bets on the latter, because he suspects Shizuo’s mind is in a complete disarray at the moment. Even if he believes it to be Izaya, there is no way he’ll come after him, not after he was humiliated like that. 

Either way, Shizuo is going to head to the facility that issues him the pills. Izaya needs the location of that place. He is kind of curious about the terms of Shizuo’s deal with Shingen Kishitani, which warrants some additional investigation. Besides, sooner than later after he replaces the monster’s pills, Shizuo will realize they’re not working anymore. Izaya doesn’t want to think about it just yet, but a part of him knows eventually he’ll have to do something about the source of the problem, the Nebula Corporation. It’s a titan of a company, a kind of a giant that Izaya thinks hard before he messes with them, so Izaya puts off thinking about it for now. He needs more information before he starts investing the time in scheming, but if he’s entirely honest with himself, Izaya will admit he just doesn’t want to get involved until he has to.

He closes the concealer and admires his work. Not a single shade of blue or red on his neck, and it looks completely natural. Izaya’s skin is paler than average, so it was actually kind of hard to find the right tone. 

The woman who helped him around the store smiles with understanding.

“Girlfriend’s a wild one,” she nods approvingly.

“You have no idea,” Izaya grins. “Shizu-chan’s wild alright.”

“Ah,” she lets out a heavy sigh, full of envy, “I wish my love life was that exciting.”

Izaya wishes he could blush on demand, but he makes do with a shy smile. He waves her goodbye and takes off to pay his old friend a visit. 

!

He is surprised to find a university at the right address. A medical college that Izaya has heard of before, it stands tall and impressive, with the usual might of centuries old architecture. Izaya thinks he should have kept better tabs on Yamazaki, but he really hasn’t had a reason to, he supposes.

He meets with him inside. The man looks older and more brittle. It dampens Izaya’s lightweight mood, because the wrinkles and the thinning gray hair remind him of the severity of time and aging. He dislikes being reminded of perishability of humans. 

“Long time no see, Orihara-kun,” Yamazaki says, his hands folded in the pockets of his doctor’s coat.

“Yamazaki- _sensei_ , what a surprise,” Izaya greets the man with a smile. “How do you like your new occupation?”

“It’s honest,” the doctor says curtly and leads him down the hall.

Yamazaki taps his ID card to open one of the rooms in the corridor, and they proceed into a laboratory full of buzzing equipment. Izaya looks around and whistles; the machinery looks genuinely impressive.

“Are you up to no good again?” Yamazaki asks. He looks stiff and unamused.

“Oh, I simply need a batch of placebos, probably around five hundred. Does that really sound like trouble?”

“Of course. You could be aiming to replace a dying man’s cure.”

“What an awful insinuation,” Izaya purses his lips. “You should know I don’t kill.”

“ _Directly_ , because you’re too much of a coward to dirty your hands,” Yamazaki points. “I’m sure people have died in the fires that you like to start around the city.”

“If you say so.”

Izaya sits on top of one of the tables, wearing his usual smile. People have all kinds of ideas about him, right and wrong, but he never ever steps in to correct them. There is really no reason to, because it’s fun when they’re right, and it’s fun when they’re wrong. There is a whole lot of judgment in his old friend’s eyes, and he’s feasting on the view, because that kind of judgment is quite juicy considering the other man’s past. 

“If you’re so honest these days,” Izaya parts his hands in mocking shock, “why did I even come here? You shouldn’t arrange meetings if you don’t plan to go through with the deal, Yamazaki- _sensei_.”

“You know damn well I have no other choice,” the man grits through his teeth. “I need the money to support my family.”

It’s funny when people decide to change. They think they have left something behind, but it haunts them, because they cannot erase their past. To this man, Izaya Orihara is a shadow from the past that came to remind Yamazaki of what he really is, of what he wants to think he _was_. There are many sides to a human personality, and just because they begin restricting themselves to the ones they prefer to believe in, it doesn’t in the least bit erase the existence of the traits they want to forget.

Quite a few people Izaya deals with tend to act like the informant forces their hand, makes them do things they don’t want to, as if they are at knife-point or something. But all he really does is make them offers; it’s not really a comment on Izaya’s own personality when they can’t refuse, or if against their better judgment, they find so many things to sell themselves for. This is why Izaya loves his humans so much, their conflicted nature and the many colors they’re prepared to put on.

“Well? Are you done dancing with your conscience?” Izaya goes for a fake yawn, but actually ends up with a genuine one. “It’s nice that you’ve gone clean and all, but I didn’t come here for an update on your inner demons, or lack thereof.” He smiles apologetically and chirps, “With all due respect, of course.”

The man stares at him in disbelief, probably because he is a little shocked that Izaya so easily disregarded his obvious discomfort with the deal.

“Give me the sample,” the man resigns, after a short pause. “It’ll be done by tonight.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Yamazaki- _sensei_ ,” Izaya drawls, fully knowing how much those words cut through the man’s conscience. “My secretary will wire the funds after I receive the pills.”

He jumps off the table and gives the man a warm smile that he knows people hate seeing on him. “It’s nice seeing you, you know? I’m happy you’re doing so well.”

Part of him wonders if he should put the old man at ease and tell him the truth. That the placebos really aren’t part of some dark scheme, they’re just to mess with a superhuman monster who is actually harming himself with the real thing. Izaya chooses to think of himself as “the good guy” in this case, and if Yamazaki knew the truth, he probably wouldn’t feel nearly as bad.

Izaya decides that it’s more interesting to let the man continue believing what he wants to believe. It’s not like it’s far from a plausible reality; Izaya can easily see himself using the old man’s services for something where these adorable reservations of the former meth dealer would be appropriate. 

Yamazaki looks like he can afford to agonize over it, anyway, all mellowed over the years. Izaya grins at him one last time before he leaves the old man standing alone in the dark lab room.

!

Night time can’t come soon enough, Izaya thinks, staring out of his ceiling-tall windows. 

Namie frequently mocks him when he tells her stories about how he feels like a God watching over the city life, and Izaya appreciates her for it. It grounds him, which isn’t necessarily a good thing, but it’s also refreshing — the people who chose to be around him in the past adored him to the point of blind admiration, and that grew boring way too fast. Boredom is dangerous, because it makes him want to twist things until they are interesting again. 

Izaya shrugs off the random fit of introspection when Namie comes back. 

“Where have you been?” he frowns. 

He’s grown quite used to seeing her when he returns to his apartment during daylight, so her unannounced disappearances irk him.

“A little more gratitude, please,” Namie scoffs. “I was following the object of your unhealthy obsession.”

“Let’s not talk about healthy,” Izaya laughs, feeling relieved. “We’re not the right people for that kind of discussion, are we? Why did you go yourself?”

“Because no one else wanted to!” she splutters, agitated. “No one wants to mess with Heiwajima except you.”

Namie marches through the room and sits down at her computer, throwing back her long hair. She looks beautiful when she’s furious like this. 

“Well?” he asks, impatient. “What did you uncover?”

“I emailed you the address. It’s one of Nebula facilities, not their biggest one, but not the smallest either. Around 70 employees.” 

She looks at him with apprehension. “You’re not going all-out against Nebula, are you?”

“I might have to,” Izaya shrugs. “I’ll slip the placebos in tonight, but that just buys me time. The sooner the old Shizu-chan’s back, the better. But it can’t last for forever. Won’t last too long, at all.”

“You know the scope of these things,” she says sternly. “And the consequences.”

Izaya knows better than to think that Namie’s worried about him. No, his sweet secretary is concerned about her own future; if the informant bites more than he can chew, it can trace back to her, or rid her of a well-paid job. Her self-preservation bias is similar to his own, and he is delighted to see it at work.

“Why can’t you just talk to the perverted doctor? I’m sure he can change Heiwajima’s mind or whatever.”

“I’m still angry with him. And there is absolutely no way I could bring this up with them directly,” Izaya says, taken aback by the ridiculous suggestion. 

“Because god forbid they know you care.”

“Choose your words better, why don’t you?” Izaya scrunches his face. “I care that the old monster is back. I don’t care what they do otherwise.”

“Right,” Namie goes for a forced smile, and the conversation is over. 

Izaya wonders how Namie can be so smart, but so silly as to assign such normal motivations to him. He doesn’t care about right and wrong. He doesn’t care that Shizuo lives a better life or worse, as long as he doesn’t change. This could be the greatest thing that ever happened to Shizu-chan, and Izaya is still going to take it away. This is entirely selfish, it doesn’t even begin to mix with “caring”. Izaya reminds himself to not be too surprised. Namie’s selfless love for her brother is so powerful, it probably blinds her enough to think that other people can feel similar to that.

They don’t exchange a word for the next few hours, which isn’t a rare occurrence. He is comfortable with the silence, because it lets him begin devising the rest of his plans. He doesn’t really have time to get back at Shinra; now that it’s obvious he has to shut down where the drugs come from in the first place, he feels like Atlas under the weight of the sky and the task at hand is pretty monstrous. 

Luckily for him, he’s not completely weaponless when it comes to Nebula’s background. Izaya thinks of a certain person or two that will most definitely hold a grudge against the company, and his previously ruined mood lights up. He feels excited to be allied with those two specifically, because god knows they either dislike him or are really scared of him.

The door rings at around eight, and the Black Rider comes in, carrying the package from Yamazaki. 

“Thank you, dear transporter,” Izaya hands her three envelopes. “Here’s your well-deserved pay, and another job for you, if you don’t mind.”

Celty diligently counts the money, then analyzes the other two envelopes. She shudders, then starts typing up a storm on her PDA.

[Anri Sonohara!? I refuse to do this job, and you can’t involve her in anything sketchy!]

“Whoah,’ Izaya blinks in fake surprise. “You know Anri-chan? But Anri-chan would really appreciate hearing from me, I really don’t doubt that.”

[You can’t! She’s too innocent… Please leave her alone. If you ever valued our continuing business, please do that much for me.]

The Dullahan’s concern for the girl who wields the power of the cursed blade is touching, and Izaya stays silent for a moment. Ah, it’s better for him to approach the girl directly, anyway.

“Fine,” Izaya concedes, shrugging. “Will you at least deliver the other envelope?”

Celty looks at the remaining envelope and sharply nods.

[I can take this one. Do you promise you won’t involve Anri Sonohara?]

“I don’t do promises, my dear transporter,” Izaya smiles, apology lighting up in his red eyes. “But your concerns have been heard.”

If Celty had eyes, she would most definitely kill him with the power of a glare. Instead, she lowers her shoulders in defeat and goes for the door, before Izaya’s voice stops her.

“Have you talked to Shizu-chan recently?” he can’t help asking.

Celty’s back freezes, and she turns around slowly. Hesitantly, she whips out her PDA again and types.

[Yes. Why?]

“No real reason,” Izaya says. “Are you really okay with the recent developments in Shizu-chan’s life?”

[You know about…? Well, of course, you would. I think Shizuo is happier now, so I support him.]

“Of course,” Izaya nods. Why would he expect a different answer? “Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. Bye-bye!”

Celty leaves, and Izaya crosses her off the mental list of potential allies in the upcoming skirmish. For a moment there he thought that maybe the Black Rider would be against her friend altering himself through drugs, but he doesn’t really know Dullahans that well, he supposes.

“You’re really going for it, aren’t you?” Namie speaks up from her desk.

“Mhm. It’s going to be fun,” Izaya plops back into his chair and spins it.

“You realize it’s like aiming a sledgehammer at a fly? Your goal is to stop Heiwajima from taking drugs, and the tool you want to use is destruction of a massive corporation. I can see a more elegant way of taking care of your problem.”

“Oh?” Izaya raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “I can see the hickeys on your neck. Should I go ahead and make a wild guess as to who gave them to you?”

Izaya’s hand darts to his neck. He thought it was a perfect job. Apparently not perfect enough for Namie’s sharp eyes.

“You caught me,” he smirks. “I got a little assaulted, that’s all. I’m not infallible, you know? It flatters me that you think otherwise, but sometimes I really can’t calculate everything to precision.”

“I highly doubt it was against your consent,” Namie points.

“Shush,” Izaya orders her, his mirth disappearing. “You’ve been quite a bother today. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

Namie looks at him, pretty eyes narrowed. He does rarely get mad at her, so her surprise isn’t out of place.

“All I’m trying to say is, perhaps a simple conversation could do wonders. It’s unlike you to take…”

“Unlike me?” he echoes, interrupting her. “I think this is very much like me. I love doing the impossible! I love getting involved with people! This gives me so much to look forward to, and so many people to meet. It gives me back my old monster, too, as the final prize. Namie-san, dear, you spend so much time around me, how can you still get this wrong?”

The hilarity of her words reaches its limit for him, and he starts laughing. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and there is so very little air inside, but he doesn’t care. Eventually he finds himself gasping for a breath, painful spasms in his chest and tears flicking off his eyelashes. His cheekbones burn from the way his face has been contorted. He finally manages to hold it down, a little concerned for his life, and when he looks around the apartment, Namie is nowhere to be seen.

 _Oh well_ , he thinks, wiping his mouth. It makes sense for Namie to disappear for a little bit. She can’t afford to get in trouble against Nebula.

He stifles another giggle and takes a deep breath.

!

Izaya stands outside Shizuo’s apartment, his right hand clutching the keyset he acquired in the afternoon. It’s midnight, and he’s sure that Shizu-chan is home. 

He wonders what kind of expressions he’ll get to see tonight, because the last time they parted, he got to see some new ones. It unsettles him, if only a little, because he recognizes it as change. Change in the monster, who before was only capable of three general categories of feelings. Rage, anxiety and indifference. Now Izaya has seen lust, embarrassment and pain, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to add any more to the list. 

It kind of changes the perspective, doesn’t it?

A small part of him also recognizes that this is probably the last time they will talk without their usual violence. After he switches the meds and goes through with his carefully designed plans for the facility, Shizu-chan will be back to normal. Izaya won’t ever risk getting caught again, of course, so it’ll return to the their old cat-and-mouse chases. 

They’re fun, Izaya smiles to himself. He wants them back.

He slides the keys back into his pocket and knocks instead. There’s silence, but the door eventually opens, and he sees the familiar mess of blond hair and a deep frown.

“Hey,” Izaya says quietly, fidgeting on his feet. He needs to look shy and embarrassed or something. Otherwise, Shizu-chan will just shut the door in front of his face.

Well, Shizuo goes and does that, anyway. The door slams shut, and Izaya smiles at the whiff of air against his face. 

Izaya knocks again. He didn’t really think it was going to be easy. He did leave Shizuo in the most embarrassing position just ten hours ago.

His following knocks are ignored, so he unlocks the door and sneaks in. The apartment is dark, but the TV is playing and Shizu-chan’s sprawled out on the couch, his feet hanging off the end of it. He’s too tall for his own furniture.

“I tried to be polite this time,” Izaya says.

“Get the fuck out,” Shizuo mumbles under his nose.

On closer inspection, Shizu-chan looks really drugged. The words are slurred, and his eyes are slow.

Izaya sits down on the floor in front of him and puts his hand against Shizuo's forehead. The beast boasts a normal human temperature. Shizuo flinches a little, but doesn’t move to hit him or slap his hand away.

“Did you just take your meds?” Izaya asks, only to be ignored. “Do you need anything?” 

“Fuck off, flea.”

Those words come out surprisingly articulate, and Izaya lights up with joy. Hatred for him wakes the monster up. Izaya leans his back against the couch, still sitting on the floor. His head lies near Shizuo’s stomach, and Izaya relishes the creeping feeling of danger that manifests in goosebumps running down his spine. Even if he is positively sure that Shizuo won’t hurt him in his current state, he still feels wonderfully alive, being so close to the beast.

Moments pass, and with the murmurs of yet another nature documentary from the TV, Izaya dozes off. 

He wakes up to a foreign feeling. Rough fingers are running through his hair, and Izaya’s first instinct is to get away. But he reins the fear in, because he needs Shizuo to let his guard down. 

“Like my hair?” he asks, amused. 

Fingers entangled in his hair freeze for a moment, only to pull them stronger and play rougher.

“If you don’t like it, you can fuck off,” the voice above him grumbles. “Asked you so many times.”

“It feels good,” Izaya says, and it’s not even a lie. It kind of reminds him of the times he used to go to the hairdresser’s, and the pretty women there would give him a head massage before his haircut. He’s long learned how to cut his own hair by now, so the feeling was unfortunately forgotten.

Shizuo’s touch is way rougher, though. It doesn’t yet hurt, but it feels demanding and snaps him to pay attention.

He looks up, without lifting his head off the couch. Shizuo looks serene, but not as drugged anymore. He remains glued to the TV box, refusing to meet Izaya’s glance.

“Do you always feel that groggy?” Izaya asks, then clarifies, “I mean earlier, when I came in?”

“No. I was pretty fucking mad after your earlier stunt, so I took more than I needed to.”

Shizuo doesn’t mention the “misplaced” pills, and Izaya wonders if he knows. 

“That’s dangerous, Shizu-chan. Don’t overdose,” Izaya chides.

“What doesn’t kill me…” Shizuo trails off.

“You’re already strong enough. Too strong,” Izaya smiles, though Shizuo can’t see it. “I’m not at all surprised by your choice of TV programming, by the way. Is it educational for you?”

“What, another joke about me being an animal? How original," Shizuo scoffs. "Pandas are cute, flea. Deal with it."

He shifts a little, and fingers leave Izaya’s hair alone. It leaves him with a strange feeling of something missing, and Izaya promptly gets up. That earns him a look of suspicious brown eyes, but Shizuo doesn’t say anything. He seems content if Izaya just leaves.

Izaya sits down on the couch instead, looking down on his tame monster.

“I’ll bring you back to life, you know?” he says, but it comes out barely above a whisper.

“You stole my pills, yeah?” Shizuo rubs his nose, still avoiding Izaya’s eyes. “I can always get more; don’t bother.”

Izaya shakes his head, but drops the subject. 

He thinks it’s only fair if he gets to play with Shizuo’s hair too, so he reaches out and grabs a lock. There are small rays of moonlight coming from the window, and the blond hair looks even prettier illuminated in silver. 

Shizuo grabs him by the shirt, forcing him to lean in closer. 

“Hey,” Izaya protests, but contrary to his expectation, Shizuo doesn’t force a kiss. He just stares at his neck and collarbone that are painted with marks. Izaya took a shower before coming over, so the makeup is washed off and he feels a little naked under the scrutiny of Shizuo's eyes.

“Why did you run, flea? Don’t give me bullshit about not wanting it.”

The question is painfully straightforward, in the usual Shizu-chan fashion.

Izaya softly laughs. He wants to laugh out louder, but he can’t risk scaring Shizuo off. “But I didn’t want it. Carnal pleasures don’t interest me in the least bit.”

The grip at the shirt lets go, and Izaya gracefully straightens out. 

“I don’t buy that,” Shizuo mutters, his eyes full of stubbornness and indignation.

“Well, I’m not really selling,” Izaya smiles wider. 

“Why the fuck are you here then?”

Izaya ponders for a moment, before answering. He can say a lot of things that will get Shizuo to do what he wants him to do, but he still wants to choose carefully.

“Something is going to happen soon, and I don’t really know if it’ll work out all that well.”

He’s dramatizing, of course. Izaya doesn’t think the risks are that high; they’re present and looming, but he’s played with wilder fire before. It kind of helps to set the mood in, though, if he talks about it in a scary way.

“Hope someone finally offs you,” Shizuo says, and completely destroys the mood Izaya was going for.

It’s befitting of the monster to continually do things Izaya doesn’t expect. He’s not even sure why he expected different; it’s not like Shizu-chan’s sexual interest in him changes the dynamic between them. It’s simple lust, and it doesn’t modify the equation at all.

“Didn’t answer my question though. Why are you here?”

Izaya lets out a small sigh and gives up on lying. He is kind of tired, and Shizu-chan’s keen intuition is too sharp, anyway. He’s not going to go with the truth, either.

“I can’t really say,” he admits freely. “Can I stay anyway?”

Shizuo’s eyes glisten in the dark. “For a price maybe.”

“My, my,” Izaya smiles and leans in closer. “Is the beast that hungry?”

“You started it. Faking romantic interest to steal my drugs. Seriously? I’d be hurt if I didn’t know you better.”

Sharp as ever.

“You’d take me against my will?” Izaya asks, slowly taking off his coat. 

He drops it on the floor, and it occurs to him his last knife is in the pocket of the abandoned coat. He should have restocked before coming back here, but he’s been awfully absent-minded lately. 

Shizuo speaks with such confidence that Izaya wonders who really is in control here.

“No. But for some shitty reason you want to stay here, and I’m thinking we can exchange a few favors.” 

“You’d do it knowing that I don’t actually want it?” 

Shizuo moves his shoulders in a shrug. “Like I said, I don’t buy that, so yeah.”

“You do remember that you’re under the influence of drugs? Your judgment is not your own,” Izaya reminds him, shaking his head in amusement. To think that he’d be the voice of reason?

“You think this ‘judgment’ wasn’t present before?”

Izaya freezes. “You hate me,” he says, with a note of plea that he couldn’t conceal in time. 

Shizuo _has_ to hate Izaya. That much can’t fall apart, can it? If Shizuo suddenly confesses that no, he doesn’t hate him, Izaya will run out the door faster than the other can say “flea”.

“I do,” Shizuo simply confirms. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck your brains out.”

“What language,” Izaya chuckles. “Just how promiscuous are you, exactly? I didn’t think you the type. Stop destroying my expectations so ruthlessly.”

“I’m not promiscuous or whatever,” Shizuo says defensively. “But your expectations can go to hell.”

Would it be the same if it were anyone else? For some reason he can’t imagine going this far with others, because the games he plays with Shizu-chan are too different, in an entirely separate dimension. He doesn’t have to do this at all — anything about time or getting the old monster back as soon as possible is a dirty post-rationalization — but isn’t it more fun to stretch this out, see how far it travels, before everything snaps and breaks apart in a million pieces? 

As if in a dream, Izaya slowly puts his suddenly heavy leg around Shizuo’s body and straddles him. Shizuo’s adamant eyes are sharp and fierce, the glassiness observed earlier completely gone. Izaya’s frame trembles a little under the loaded gaze, and he laments the fact that his body is so weak. It’s really not up to par with his mind, because it surrenders so readily, it’s laughable. 

It feels like they’ve talked enough, and Izaya knows the next move is on him. Shizuo is stubborn, his arms completely still by his sides. He wants Izaya to take the lead this time so there is no chance to pretend he’s being forced.

It’s a trade like any other. A game as good as all. He expects his body will yield faster than ever, but that’s fine. It’ll be over sooner or later.

Izaya takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to go underwater, and leans forward to capture Shizuo’s bottom lip between his teeth. His tongue peeks in after, tracing the insides of the lips. The kiss that he creates in the following minutes is tender and frail, almost ghostlike. He laughs a little in his head, thinking about how disappointed Shizuo must be with the lack of passion, but it’s the monster’s fault. He gave Izaya control, and now he’ll reap what Izaya chooses to sow.

Shizuo doesn’t say a thing, only mirrors Izaya’s tongue and tries to play the same way. 

Hands try to grab his hips, but Izaya gently takes them off. It’s humiliating enough to be aroused from a simple ghost of a kiss; he doesn’t need his body to surrender any further. He resolves not to make a single sound tonight.

He rises and slips out of his pants, while Shizuo unbuckles his, and Izaya begins his slow and agonizing capitulation. He moves on top, painstakingly thorough, because he wants Shizuo to suffer, too.

It’s not until he’s finishing into Shizuo’s palm, breaking his stubborn silence in an explosion of pleading moans against the other's neck, that he realizes just how deeply he misjudged the situation. Strong arms clasp around him, comforting, lulling him into a cold sense of catharsis. He distantly hears Shizuo whispering something, but no meaning registers in his drained mind. He hears his own broken breathing, too. 

He misjudged the part about it being a trade like any other. This is on a whole different level. _Too dangerous_ , and Izaya's chest constricts with panic, but before he can try to stumble out of the den, his body betrays him once again and he falls asleep.

!

His body is blissfully sated, but it's a loud contradiction against his restless mind.

He cleans himself up with fervor that he hasn't known before, trying to erase the ghost of touch that creeps on his skin. Morning birds are chirping outside, reminding him of the new day and the things he has planned for it, but all he can think of is Shizuo, Shizuo and Shizuo.

Izaya has done what he came for, the pills quickly swapped after Shizuo fell asleep. He expects the old Shizuo to return some time later today, having not taken pills since Izaya’s arrival at his doorstep, which was about seven hours ago. The thought that at least something will go back to normal is a great relief to Izaya’s tightly stretched nerves, because he admits he has dug himself into a hole more than a little too deep, and climbing back out is going to be a thrill. 

Tonight, he concludes, looking at himself in the mirror, was the first time he broke both his mind and his body at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think minor spoilers inc, for those readers who aren't acquainted with Akabayashi's relationship with Anri. It's not an exact reflection at all, though (details changed).

Izaya doesn’t like bars.

The sharp stench of booze of mixed with cigarette smoke, the dimmed lights, people drowning their sorrows, people looking for a fuck or for a brawl, it is all too textbook. Pick any bar in any country, and you will observe the same picture, and it’s just too boring. This particular bar that he warily enters is one of the lesser known in Ikebukuro, a more elite kind where you can be sure you’re in the company of high-ranking men and top-class hookers. It’s unbearably early in the morning though, so there is not a soul around, and Izaya anxiously taps his slender fingers against the sturdy wood of the table that he picked in the far corner of the establishment.

Akabayashi shows up fifteen minutes late, navigating past the scattered tables to make his way towards Izaya. There is familiar apprehension on his face, the kind that Izaya is very used to seeing in his clients.

“You’re late,” Izaya snaps at him as Akabayashi seats himself across the table, throwing in his cane first.

“Traffic,” the man known as the Red Demon complains and doesn’t look sorry at all. It’s a plausible excuse, considering the morning hour, but Izaya is still irked, he dislikes waiting. Bitterly, he admits to himself that most of his irritability comes from the fact that he’s still struggling to pull himself together after he broke apart at Shizuo’s mercy.

Brushing off the headache of those thoughts, Izaya signals the waitress, and she waltzes over, dressed in a complicated mess of strings and leather belts. 

“Glenlivet, neat,” Akabayashi nods at her, his eye shamelessly taking in whatever skin is visible on the woman’s body.

“Just water,” Izaya says, and the waitress leaves without uttering a word. Izaya can’t blame her; she looks like she worked the night shift.

Akabayashi watches the woman walk away. “Quite a looker, isn’t she? Not sure what the hell she’s wearing, though.”

“It’s supposed to be dominatrix-themed,” Izaya explains, and the man lights up with understanding. Akabayashi’s rather conservative, but he always did love learning about new things.

“That’s quite exciting,” he exclaims, taking a second look at the woman, this time for a more educational purpose. “I’ve read about that on the Internet. Are you into that?”

Izaya chuckles, mostly to himself. “Not to my knowledge.” He pauses for a few seconds and nonchalantly adds, “I did just recently discover I want to fuck animals, though.”

Akabayashi’s only eye widens in shock. “That’s way too much fucking information, Orihara-san.”

“To me as well,” Izaya agrees, ruefully. He forces a cheerful smile and winks. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you for it.”

The man is amused, probably thinks it was an idiotic joke, and the edge in his eye softens. Akabayashi has never liked him, has even said that much in person, but they have a good thing going where they agree to scratch each other’s backs if it benefits both. The man likes to play fair and has a personal code that he abides by, which is why Izaya frequently ends up telling him things that somewhat resemble the truth.

“Well, I got your fancy papers. Really didn’t wanna deal with you again, but the Black Rider wouldn’t budge until I took them,” Akabayashi speaks with a sigh, but there’s a playful spark in his eye.

“That’s the Black Rider for you, my favorite transporter. To date, never failed a single job,” Izaya raises a finger to illustrate how serious he is about the praise.

The waitress comes back with the drinks, and they take a moment to accommodate them on the table.

“The stuff sure looked legitimate.”

“Perhaps because it is,” Izaya replies, a little irritated. People are absolutely right to distrust him — he finds it hilarious when they don’t — but sometimes they overdo it just a tad bit. “Papers like that would be hard to forge, eh? I’m a capable man, but writing dissertations on complicated drug trials isn’t _quite_ my forte.”

“Enough with the sass,” Akabayashi waves his hand in dismissal. “I get it, it’s real. They’re responsible for what happened to Sonohara. Now what? It’s not like I’m gonna storm in there and destroy their fucking equipment.”

He takes a sip of his drink, and Izaya bides his time for a few moments. He can’t press him too hard yet, or the man will rather listen to his reservations instead of the reckless abandon that he wants to see. Akabayashi’s greedy taste for retribution will do the coaxing, and Izaya simply needs to feed that fire within the demon. He knows that underneath the laid-back coating, Akabayashi hosts a rather dark, bitter filling mixed with regret and a desire for vengeance.

“They still produce that drug, you know?” Izaya speaks in a lower pitch than normal. “The one that sends people into fits of insanity and rage. They sell it to various interested parties that heavily misuse them, under a number of different aliases. It’s quite hard to trace those transactions back to them, but if we were to get access to the facility I’m interested in, I’m sure we could connect it.”

The Red Demon stays silent and drinks more. 

“And they make the opposite kind of drug, too. A drug that calms people down beyond recognition. It rids them of their anger, their passion, their core. It changes people. Imagine if this gets out? Or if it spreads, without people knowing? It’s quite easy to slip people drugs, you know. They will think they’ve grown to be calmer and more mature, but in reality they’re just drugged numb.”

The words seem to wake an old fire in the Red Demon’s stare, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, probably remembering the circumstances of Sonohara’s tragedy. 

“You’re awfully invested in this, aren’t you?” Akabayashi narrows his eye.

“Sure am,” Izaya smiles. “I need to destroy that facility.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“They took something of mine, and I need it back.” 

It's a bit of a stretch to say that, but it's closer to the truth than anything else. The easiest lies are half-truths, after all.

Akabayashi seems pleased enough with the answer, but the frown isn’t gone yet.

“Nebula’s a giant shark. Like, great white kinda big. I’ve heard of them for a while, though Awakusu never crossed them directly,” Akabayashi still speaks with reserved caution, but Izaya can read between the lines well enough to know that if the man is thinking this far, he’s already well on the path of going along with the arduous task.

“We wouldn’t take them head-on, we’re not stupid,” Izaya says the obvious, as he empties his glass of water. “You know the way I prefer doing things.”

“I’m familiar, unfortunately,” Akabayashi says mournfully.

“Will you help me?”

Akabayashi harrumphes with a low-pitch groan, still mulling it over. He’s already made a decision, but he is in the process of coming to terms with it. 

“Fine,” he finally mutters, his jaw clenching. “But it’ll heavily depend on the viability of your plan, and a condition that it cannot trace back to Awakusu. And the right price, of course.”

“Oh, and here I thought you’d be driven by conviction and the sense of justice,” Izaya teases. “But yes, money won’t be an issue.”

“Not just money,” Akabayashi says solemnly. “You’ll get me two tickets to all Ruri Hijiribe’s concerts for the rest of the year.”

Izaya erupts into childlike laughter. Awakusu’s obsession with the pop idol never ceases to entertain, and he’s thankful for the comedic break. It loosens the strings of his nerves in a much needed reprieve.

“What? I’ll be doing the impossible for you,” Akabayashi grins, his scarred eye twitching. “Least I can do is milk all I can in return.”

“Two tickets, eh?”

“Well, Aozaki is gonna help me with this,” he shrugs. “Gotta reward him, too.”

“He’s not actually a fan,” Izaya reminds him, still giggling.

“Oh, he will be. Just watch. These concerts will finally show him how wrong he was about our Ruri-chan.”

Akabayashi downs the rest of his drink, and there’s a visible flush on his cheeks. Izaya watches him with intent scrutiny, trying to place if he would be attracted to the man sexually. The Red Demon is undeniably good-looking, the scar across his eye complementing the rugged charm of his complexion. Never mind the good looks, Izaya admires the twisted sense of justice that moves the man to go to herculean lengths in order to avenge his late friend, and he also adores the fact that Akabayashi still takes care of Sonohara’s daughter. No matter how he looks at it, Izaya is deeply in love with every bit that makes the man, but it’s the same type of love that Izaya feels for every human. It’s asexual in nature, Izaya can’t get aroused by his love for people, or he’d be aroused for every living human on the planet. 

Yet, as the last night showed, his body apparently goes overdrive for animals. Maybe it’s the forbidden fruit psychology that’s at work. Or the raw, primal element that only Shizu-chan possesses. Who knows. Izaya sighs and rubs at his temples, because memories of last night make his body ache for more of what went down, and that’s impossible. 

“Nebula’s giving you that much of a headache?” Akabayashi pulls him out of his thoughts, and Izaya realizes he let his guard down with the body language.

“Not exactly,” Izaya admits. “I might have gotten in trouble with Shizu-chan again.”

“Ah, that superhuman bartender? Hopefully he gives you a good healthy beating some day.” 

“How awful of you to say that,” Izaya curls his lips into a pout. “We’re partners now, you know?”

“You can’t say you don’t deserve one, can you?”

!

He decides to take a small nap on top of a building near the bar. The rising sun warms his bones, and he falls asleep, curled up against the metal door that leads onto the roof. 

The meeting with the Red Demon went far and above his expectations. He expected Akabayashi to agree, but he didn’t think it’d be that easy. The next stop, after he gets his well-deserved rest, is Anri Sonohara. He doesn’t know where she is yet, but he thinks he’ll find her around Russia Sushi. He never mentioned her role in this with Akabayashi, and he knows that will come back to bite him. That’s something he can deal with later, because the power of the Cursed Blade is absolutely required for the plan to work.

He wakes up when it’s a little after noon, feeling hot and sweaty in his coat. His body whines and joints pop when he stretches his limbs, because sleeping on concrete surface pressed against metal isn’t the best idea of a rest. There’s a stifled hollow feeling in his chest, but Izaya wearily thinks that he’s doing fine. He fell apart last night, but he picked up the pieces and glued them together, and even though it looks ugly right now, it’ll grow together sooner than later. He’ll be good as new, as they say.

One of his phones rings, and the caller ID reads _Shinra_. Izaya hesitates and collects his voice before answering.

“Shinra!” he chirps into the cell, tapping into his last reserves of energy. “How very unusual of you to call your only friend.”

“You’re not my only friend,” Shinra says, and by the tension in his voice Izaya knows something is up. “Can you come over?”

Izaya feigns a gasp. “We’re doing house visits now, too? Is there a new law passed in the country? I haven’t read the newspapers yet.”

“Yes,” Shinra shamelessly shuts him down. “You’ll go to jail if you don’t come.”

The voice is abruptly cut off, and the line goes dead. Izaya pockets the phone, frowning. There is no way Shinra knows about his plans yet — he hasn’t made a single official move, aside from messing up Shizuo’s supply — but it can’t be a coincidence that Shinra would call him out of the blue like that. He can’t remember the last time Shinra called him before this.

On the way to Shinra’s, Izaya ponders the possible reasons for the sudden call. He settles that the most likely reason for it is the Dullahan’s anxiety over Anri-chan. Shinra’s hopelessly in love with the Dullahan, so any concern of hers is automatically burdened on him, and Izaya feels sorry for his friend. Feels sorry for himself, too, because he’s about to get rained on with lectures. He considers not going, but he can’t exactly walk out on his only friend, can he? Besides, he still wants to punish Shinra for putting ideas into Shizuo’s mind. if Izaya thinks about it very carefully, in this entire thing the buck stops with Shinra.

A few blocks away from his destination, he’s caught completely off-guard when he’s surrounded by three men in an alleyway. Izaya has taken this shortcut plenty of times before, but he never noticed anything that spoke of this type of trouble. 

The attack is rather sudden. They’re either somewhat competent, or he is still suffering from the absent-mindedness he acquired ever since he decided to fix Shizu-chan. Izaya’s head is shoved into the brick wall, and his face scrapes against the dirt-ridden cracks. He groans, tries to reach for the only knife in his pocket, but they grab him by the arms, pinning them behind his back.

“You’ve been sniffing around, haven’t you?” one of them snarls. 

“You must be mistaken,” Izaya smiles and tastes the dirt off the wall again because they shove his face deeper as he talks. 

“We’ll teach you a lesson.” Hands travel around his body in a free roam. “It’s free of charge, too, just between us.”

There is a loud cackle among them, and Izaya says nothing. His arms are still locked behind, twisted in an unnatural way with a sharp pain at the elbows. He’s been in a similar position before; for some reason men are really into him, perhaps because of his small frame and a universally beautiful face. 

They force him out of his jacket, flail him around and use a knife to cut through his black shirt, the blade grazing the skin. He tries his best to outmaneuver them in the few seconds of freedom that his arms receive, but three-versus-one proves too difficult even for him. They reward him with a rain of fists, then twist him around to face the wall again.

Izaya shrugs away the feeling of disgust that rises in his chest. This is part of human nature too, even if it’s the ugliest corner of it. Everything is equal, right? He giggles a little to himself and hopes it’s over soon. He can’t have Shinra waiting for too long.

The men don’t go through with it, however. He senses they have stopped dead in their movement, and he manages to turn his head against the frozen grip, curious to find the source of their paralysis. His heart loses a beat when he sees the man at the end of the alley.

The expressions on Shizu-chan’s face are rather funny. At first, it is a flash of anger which is normal for when Shizuo’s gaze fixes on Izaya. Then, it is a look of mild confusion, as if he can’t comprehend what is unfolding in front of him. That Izaya would be found beaten, half-naked, with three other men cornering him in an alleyway. 

The three men stare at the blond in terror, putting together the color of the hair, the sunglasses and the bartender suit. That should be their cue to run, but the sight of the delicious prey right in front of them fools them into thinking they could still play it right. After all, doesn’t Shizuo Heiwajima hate the rotten informant? Countless times they have surely witnessed the cat-and-mouse chases the two played. Shizuo Heiwajima should be the last person to think of rescuing Izaya Orihara.

“Shizu-chan, you know it’s not nice to intrude on people like this?” Izaya chastises him, mockingly trying to cover himself for the humor of it. 

His captors don’t appreciate his antics, and he’s promptly punished with a punch to the kidneys.

“Hmm,” Shizuo intones and casually strolls forward with his hands tucked in pockets, and suddenly it is the three thugs that are being cornered. They let go of Izaya, and he leans against the wall, his legs wobbly, welcoming the break to rub his abused elbows. Elbows really aren’t meant to be bent like that.

“W-what?!” one of the men yelps defensively when Shizuo walks closer. “This is Izaya Ori-ha-ra!” he explains to him. “You gotta understand us, right?”

“Understand you?” Shizuo looks unimpressed. “Your zipper’s open, by the way.” 

The man hurries to zip himself up and visibly swallows.

“What’s the deal with you, man?” he continues to plead, aware that aggression will lead nowhere. Or somewhere really unpleasant, rather. “Don’t you hate this motherfucker?”

“I do,” the tall man nods. He is looming over them, their backs pinned into the brick wall, though it is their own backing that put them in that disposition. Shizuo is still quite a few feet away from them.

Izaya quietly slides against the wall to sit next to the dumpster. He tries to play it cool, but his head is spinning a bit. Shizuo’s appearance is a nice intermission, but the implications and possible consequences are worrisome, so he begins thinking of a way to escape. The drugs have surely worn off by now, and Izaya can’t really afford to get any more beaten for today.

“Leave us alone, Shizu-chan. We were having lots of fun.” 

He winks when the blond looks down on him. Shizuo answers with a silent glare.

“Y-you heard him, Heiwajima,” one of the men sharply nods. “We know you got beef with this fucker, and we respect that. But we’ve, uh, booked him for the day, if you know what we mean.”

“Yeah, come back another time!” another man butts in, bravery splattered across an idiotic face. Izaya mentally rolls his eyes; they aren’t exactly helping. Just what kind of dumb meat did Nebula send after him? And how the hell did they know? His mind snaps back to Namie, but it seems unlikely that she’d betray him so soon. Wouldn’t she wait until it’s obvious Izaya is on the losing side?

Shizuo lights a cigarette, silent, as if the ongoing conversation doesn’t include him. Izaya isn’t really surprised by that. He has never pegged Shizuo as someone with strong analytical skills. As far as he is concerned, Shizuo is still processing the scene or something. The three men, however, look to be positively panicking. Izaya would be too, if he were them. The immovable beast of Ikebukuro is just standing there, staring down the informant, and smoking. What a scary animal.

Though stupid, the men aren’t crazy enough to challenge Shizuo Heiwajima to a fight. They exchange a few muttered words between themselves, then resign themselves to leave, surrendering their hunt to a beast that is far above them on the food chain. No one is above Shizuo Heiwajima when it comes to hunting. When they turn around to leave, however, Shizuo speaks, his voice calm and even. 

“Wait. Let me finish my smoke.”

The men exchange confused looks, and traces of hope run through their features. Shizuo Heiwajima might let them be, he is just finishing his smoke. A little uncertain at first, they stumble back and one of them grabs Izaya by the elbow. 

“Hands off, though,” Shizuo barks and lightly taps the guy who touched Izaya on the back of his head. It’s a light tap from Shizuo, but a very real smack for a normal human. 

The man cries out in pain, and that is the battle signal for the other two to fumble an attack. They grab a metal rod and charge him, but the beast moves the bare minimum required to swat them into the wall, before lifting each one of them and thrashing them into the dumpster. He then stops to ponder for a second, clearly considering something. Brushing dirt off his hands, he bends down to pick up the same metal rod they used against him and twists it through and around the dumpster’s lock, and with a loud metal screech, the men’s protesting voices are muffled for a long time.

Izaya shakes his head at the display of the raw, crude power. Bending thick metal rods… Sheesh. At least it looks like the drugs are no longer in effect. That doesn’t bode too well for Izaya, but he feels happy the old monster is back. 

“Fucking disgusting,” Shizuo growls under his breath, and Izaya isn’t sure if he is talking about the thugs or his dirtied hands. 

“How nice of you,” Izaya lazily says. “I had everything under control, though.”

“Sure you did, flea.”

Shizuo stands above him, glaring him down through those sunglasses he always wears. Izaya feels a chill run down his spine. He doesn’t have a single knife, and truth to be told, he is in a pretty sorry state.

“Raincheck, maybe?” Izaya pleads with a smirk, looking up. If there is ever a time to play a wounded puppy, now would be it.

“Raincheck?”

“Yeah, like a request to postpone our fight,” Izaya explains, reminded that he frequently has to decipher the simplest phrases to Shizuo. “Or is our lion so heartless as to go for a wounded gazelle?”

“What the hell are you mumbling about.”

“Just animal stuff.” Izaya waves his hand and lets out a sigh that breaks into a sharp cough halfway through. 

“This happen often to you?” Shizuo nods towards him, and Izaya realizes he means his half-naked body. His coat is lying somewhere in the corner, and his shirt is torn open. 

His pants are still on, at least, a small gift of dignity in this rotten day.

“Not really,” Izaya mumbles, unsure of what to say.

Shizuo squats in front of him and brings the torn shirt together as if the cloth is going to magically join together again. Izaya winces at the contact, but doesn’t protest. The beast is way too close again, fingertips brushing against his exposed chest.

“Fucking disgusting,” Shizuo repeats, almost spitting. 

“What is?” Izaya asks, tired. He doesn’t really want to know. He doesn’t want to hear or see Shizuo right now.

“Them. And you.”

“Hey, I’m a victim here. Rude!” Izaya purses his torn lips, scrunching his face from the pain that comes with it.

Shizuo’s hand is still holding his shirt together, not a single motion yet that would hint at aggression, violence or murderous intent. That should put him at ease, but instead his chest stiffens with fear.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya almost pleads. “Please, beat me up, will you?”

“You’re joking?” Shizuo eyes him with skepticism. “You’re pretty beat up already.”

“Just because we fucked once doesn’t mean we’re buddies now. Do the usual, do your worst,” Izaya smiles to reassure him, to make his consent known. 

“I told you, I don’t beat people up anymore,” Shizuo tells him, after a short pause.

Izaya glances at the dumpster; he can hear their muffled cries of both pleas and threats. 

Shizuo must still believe he’s under the influence of drugs, acting accordingly. Placebo can be inconvenient like that. 

“Why are you even here?” Izaya asks, not bothering to hide the sharp edge of his voice. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Shinra called. I was on the way to his place.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Izaya admits.

For a second there he was worried that Shizuo had followed him or something, the timing of his appearance being a little too good. 

“Do you know what Shinra wants?”

“No fucking idea. Normally I wouldn’t go, but Celty insisted.”

Shizuo finally finishes his cigarette and puts it out under his boot. His freed hand brushes against Izaya’s ear, tucking away stray hair strands. They are wet with blood and sweat, and everything feels gross. “What do you think you’re doing, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks slowly.

“You’re pretty helpless right now."

“A+ for the astute observation,” Izaya hisses. “Let go of me now, will you?”

“I dunno about that,” the beast has the audacity to shrug and lean in even closer. “You’re kind of mine now, aren’t you?”

“Yours?” Izaya’s breath stills in his throat.

“Those three were going to eat you,” Shizuo points at the dumpster. “They’re hyenas, and I’m the lion that scared them away.”

The logic makes perfect sense, much to his dismay. The stronger animal does claim the prize. Leave it to Shizu-chan to turn Izaya’s own ideas of how Shizuo works against him. 

“You watch too much Discovery,” Izaya says meekly, looking away, anywhere but Shizuo. “I refuse to be prey.”

“And I refuse to be an animal,” Shizuo grins like a Cheshire cat. “But we can’t always have what we want, can we?”

He grabs Izaya by the torn shirt and plants a rough kiss to his lips. Startled, Izaya chokes against it, but it’s too hot and melting not to give into. It tastes of blood and the burn of cigarettes, and Izaya can’t hold down feeble moans of pleasure, his entire essence ecstatic to find itself here again. 

It’s humiliating to not know what to do. His mind explodes in a stream of _No_ and _Fuck yes_ , and he doesn’t know which one to go with. At this point, does it really even matter? He tries to think of a similar position he’s observed his humans in. Is this the moment where desperate men go _fuck it_ and let go of their last remnants of sanity? Gamblers, drug addicts, people who lose the ground under their feet, people with nothing left to lose? He’s never had anything to lose to start with, except his own preconceived notions about what he is and how he works. 

He observed people in similar positions and laughed at them, with them, in front of them. People who are desperate to cling to their ideas of how things work, too scared and too weak to accept that the world could be different. The longer they have lied to themselves, the harder the fall. The more you invest in something, the more humiliating the taste of defeat when it all falls apart. It laughs back at you, reminding you of how stupid and wrong you were, and he recognizes that to be the power of the ego over the mind. He thought himself free of the chains of ego because he lacks the lust for power or ambition. He thought he’d lacked lust for anything but the observance of life, but it only takes one aberrant monster to make a complete fool out of him. 

Something hot stings in his eyes, and to his horror he realizes it to be tears. Izaya blinks in panic, at a complete loss of what to do, and stricken by fear, he bites down on Shizuo’s lip, forcing the man to jerk back. 

The muffled drum of his heartbeat is deafening against his ears. It’s pounding out the rhythm of his imminent death, because Shizuo’s eyes lose light. As if in slow motion, Shizuo brings the back of his hand across his lips and stares at the bright red of the drawn blood. His face twists into the familiar lines of rage, and Izaya catches the blur of an aimed fist before he’s knocked unconscious.

!

Alarm bells are ringing loud and heavy in his head when he wakes up. 

Well, actually, it’s just the usual headache that comes with being knocked out by a superhuman. Izaya waits till his vision clears and takes in the surroundings. Shizuo’s bedroom, in all its plain simplicity.

 _Why not Shinra’s place?_ comes a puzzled thought, and he can’t come up with a plausible answer. None of his injuries are life-threatening, but it’d still be nice to be patched up. Besides, Shinra was waiting for them. 

He sits up and leans against the bed frame, feeling numb and disoriented. It’s mind-boggling how comfortable the monster is with his continuous advances on him. Unabashed, confident, practically shameless. That lack of inhibition has put Shizuo at an unfair advantage ever since Izaya forgot his breath in their first kiss. Izaya touches his face, assessing the damage. Shizuo must really care about the way Izaya looks — he intentionally avoided the eyes and the nose, going for a careful punch against the cheekbone. 

Or maybe it was a coincidence, and Izaya is engaging in wishful thinking again. He doesn’t even know anymore.

There’s a click of the door, and the perpetrator of his assault walks in, looking fresh out of a shower. The wet scattered hair reminds him of the first time they had kissed on the couch.

“Hey,” Shizuo nods at him and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. How fucking casual, Izaya thinks with anger. He turns away, arms folded on his chest. “Don’t be upset, yeah?” Shizuo calls, hesitant. “You bit me, and I…”

“You were assaulting me,” Izaya hisses to interrupt him.

“We back to that again?” Shizuo sighs, rubbing the back of his head. He doesn’t look so confident anymore, which relieves Izaya.

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, looking pointedly at his naked chest. There’s a slight mark of the knife that grazed his skin, but it’s faint.

“In the trash,” Shizuo says, looking guilty. “Shirt was cut beyond repair.”

Great. “What happened to us,” Izaya speaks up, his voice unstable. It treads a fine line between despair and a giggle. “How did we do a 180 like this? It used to be that I was the one to drive you crazy. You used to beg _me_ to leave _you_ alone.”

Shizuo says nothing, only looks down to scrutinize his feet. Silence falls over them like a heavy hot blanket.

“Why do you complicate things?” he finally asks, shoulders hunched.

“Complicate things?” Izaya lets out a bitter laugh. 

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Shizuo looks at him like an adult looks at a child when they explain obvious facts. “Don’t overthink stuff. You want to fuck, let’s just fuck. Isn’t it simple?”

The words are a splash of cold water to his face. Of course it’d be simple for Shizuo to accept his lust as easily as that. It’s _natural_. He can't even blame Shizu-chan's drugs anymore, because he's surely weaned off by now and he's still coming onto him like a tsunami.

Izaya feels like he’s done wasting time agonizing over this. It was dangerous before when he was stupidly overcome by the implications and what it meant to him, but he can learn to use this like anything else. After all, Shizu-chan would be a great asset. An ally he would’ve never dreamed of before, when the world was somewhat sane.

“Fine,” Izaya says, his voice even. “Let’s fuck. A _lot_.”

Shizuo narrows eyes at the sudden change in the mood, suspicious. His senses have always been unnaturally sharp in detecting Izaya’s intentions. 

Izaya crawls over the crumpled sheets to assume a seat behind Shizuo, flinching a little from the pain of stretched skin cuts and bruised limbs. Wrapping his arms around Shizuo’s torso, he rests his forehead against the shoulder blade, amused by how lean the body in front of him is. The body feels tense, the temperature warmer than his.

“You saved me today, didn't you?” Izaya rises to whisper into the back of Shizuo’s neck and feels it run with goosebumps. He gives them a tentative lick and watches them multiply. Shizuo shivers. “If I get in trouble... will Shizu-chan save me again?”

Shizuo stays silent, only lowers his head further down. Izaya smiles to himself and sits up straighter to run his tongue through Shizuo’s ear. He captures the lobe between his teeth and nibbles, causing a deep murmur to erupt from the beast’s throat.

“You’re a real piece of shit, aren’t you, Izaya-kun?” 

The words are heavy with both lust and disgust, and Izaya can’t tell which one is stronger. 

“That’s hardly news, Shizu-chan,” Izaya softly laughs into Shizuo’s ear, hugging him tighter. “I thought you wanted this. Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

Shizuo stands up faster than Izaya predicts it, forcing him to fall against the sheets. 

“I’ll save you as many times as you need it,” he promises, unbuckling his belt. Izaya feels a now familiar rush of heat surge through him, as he lies still while the beast get on top of him. He readily wraps his legs around Shizuo’s waist and flashes his teeth in a pleased smirk. This kind of transaction I can deal with, he thinks. 

Shizuo is rougher that night, he doesn’t kiss or touch aside from the hand that holds him down by the neck or a grab that forces a leg up. Izaya’s gaze stays fixed on the beast, taking in the full beauty of the view. Halfway through he can’t help but writhe in pleasure, feeling unbearably full and hot; he wishes Shizuo would touch him too, but he’s not going to beg so he touches himself, flashing a look of angry eyes at the blond. It’s a fast fuck, and when Shizuo collapses on top of him, panting heavily, Izaya is surprised to be kissed in full. Shizuo’s bottom lip is puffed and reddened, and Izaya kisses back carefully, feeling a tinge of regret for having caused that damage.

It’s only early evening, but he thinks _fuck it_ and throws his silenced phones on the pile of clothes beside the bed, ignoring the notifications of unanswered calls and unread texts. Shinra and the world can wait while he regains his sanity in the only way he knows how. _I’m injured, anyway_ , Izaya reasons and curls up against the sleeping beast.

“Give me the fucking blanket,” Shizuo growls through his sleep, and Izaya feels incredibly offended. He didn’t even take that much.


	4. Chapter 4

Shizuo is borderline abusive when he’s overcome by lust. 

The way he shoves himself into Izaya’s mouth without asking permission, the steel grip on Izaya’s hair, it all spells out complete disregard for his feelings. Izaya hasn’t done anything of the sort before, but he’s a quick learner and he tries to do his best because he’s not the type to half-ass things. He manages to survive the initial choking and in just five overwhelming thrusts mentally adds another skill to his impressively long list of things he can do — now he can boast an amazing amount of control over his gag reflex, though Izaya doubts he’d go around mentioning this to other people.

A part of him wonders if Shizu-chan gets off on this because he’s humiliating the person he hates the most. The stupid “flea” is down on his knees, powerless by choice and preference, and Shizuo is relentless in the assault, shoving in deeper and faster with each thrust. This realization is bitter, like the taste of the flesh that stuffs his mouth, but Izaya can no longer pretend he doesn’t want it. He prefers it this way, it turns him on, too.

Of course, Shizuo doesn’t let him pull away when he’s about to finish. Izaya diligently swallows it all, partly because it’s unbelievably arousing and partly because he’s genuinely scared to choke on the warm stream because it has nowhere else to go. The beast grunts out an incoherent cuss, and the grip on Izaya’s head finally loosens. It only hurts a little, the roots of his hairs whining and his throat tightened from the abuse. He swallows the pain and looks up, still on his knees, to watch Shizuo slowly leave his haze to regain consciousness in the darkened eyes. The expressions of life, pain and indifference flicker through, and the smoke of lust slowly clears to settle down on concern. Shizuo promptly falls to his knees, carefully wipes Izaya’s face from sweat-drenched hair strands and clumsily kisses away the drool around his chin. His breathing is short and broken, the shock of the release still trembling through his body.

It’s these acts that resemble caring that unsettle Izaya the most. He tilts his head, escaping the gentle kisses. Licks the corners of his swollen lips and stands up, his numbed knees grateful. Their places now reversed, Izaya takes no pleasure in the sight. For the beast below him, it’s unfitting to look so self-conscious and flustered, yet it happened after every time they have engaged in something like this, this befuddled look of embarrassment and the expression that reads _what the hell just happened_. Lust to Shizuo appears to be as explosive and oppressive as is his rage — when he wakes up from it, he is overwhelmed by the weight of the things he has done.

The position that they’re in — with Shizuo on his knees and Izaya standing up to look down on him — amuses him, it feels so wrong and right at the same time, and he distantly wonders how far this is going to go before things begin to break.

“Where do you think this is going?” Izaya asks, adjusting his shirt to busy idle hands. The shirt belongs to Shizuo, loose and baggy on his small frame. The bottom edge drops past his hips, and he stuffs it past the waistband of his pants, a little humbled by the size difference between the two of them. Humbled at first, but then he feels proud, too — despite the obvious physical superiority Shizu-chan can never catch up to him, after all. 

Shizuo looks up at the question, confused.

“This little arrangement of ours?” Izaya clarifies when the silence lasts a tad too long to his liking.

“It’s up to you,” Shizuo finally speaks, and his voice is hoarse and hollow, as if he is the one whose throat was ravaged for a good half hour. 

Shizuo gets up and walks to the nightstand to fumble for his cigarettes in the darkness. It’s a crutch to him, these little sticks of cancer, his source of calm and control. Izaya follows, his footsteps much lighter than the beast’s. He motions Shizuo to give him a cigarette too and leans in for a light.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” 

Izaya doesn’t, so he coughs a little at the first inhale. It’s his first time, and it tastes like shit, the smoke burning his lungs. Shizuo looks at him with a faint smile, as if Izaya’s inability to smoke cigarettes is somehow funny. The look of confusion mixed with the shadow of guilt is finally gone though, and Izaya thinks it a fair trade.

He puts out the cigarette against the glass of the ashtray with a look of disgust.

“Up to me, eh?” he echoes Shizuo’s answer. “Shizu-chan is fine with anything, then?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” Shizuo points. He's sitting on the bed propped by his arms behind him, relaxed and a cigarette between his lips. He looks like he’s in his element again, and Izaya still can’t comprehend how they have gotten so intimate in so little time. Shizuo doesn't even look tense around him anymore. 

“Thinking too much,” Izaya finishes for him and laughs bitterly. 

It doesn’t escape Shizuo’s attention, that sound of bitterness, because he sits up straighter and captures Izaya by the shirt to pull him onto the bed.

“This is fine,” he says and goes for a small grin.

“You owe me now,” Izaya reminds him, freeing himself. “There’s a reason I’m here.”

“’course,” Shizuo nods and grabs him by the back of the head to shove him into the pillow face first. “Now sleep, you little shit.”

It’s not like he can resist against the force. Izaya exhales into the pillow — the beast manhandling him around is a little irritating — then turns around to stare at the empty ceiling. “What about me?” he asks, a little hurt. “Are you the type of person who only _takes_?”

Shizuo studies him for a few moments, before he raises an eyebrow. “I thought our trade was I save you if you get in trouble. Don’t tell me you want to be pleased, too?”

“No,” Izaya smiles in a lie. “But it’s interesting how selfish you are. Shouldn’t you throw me out right after while you’re at it?”

“Not really. I feel safer with you.”

Izaya chokes on whatever comeback he was preparing. “What the _hell_ do people say to that?” he splutters, raising himself by the elbows. Shizuo must be fucking with him.

Shizuo flicks him on the forehead, and it stings a little. “I didn’t mean it like that, stupid. It’s safer for everyone if you’re stuck here. You’re not out ruining people’s lives.”

Izaya scoffs and turns away, hiding under the blanket, too tired to think of a response.

Once the heat of passion dissipates, the beast’s lair is unbearably cold. 

!

He decides to head out before the sun rises, because there’s no real reason to stay. Shizuo sleeps like a log and doesn’t make a single sound when Izaya slithers out of bed, not gracing the beast with another look.

The knives that he left three days ago he finds in the trash bin — an obvious fuck-you from Shizuo because if the monster really meant to throw them out, he’d have done so by now. Still, Izaya is touched that Shizuo kept them. He plucks the blades out of the dirty mess of yogurt containers and milk packages, washes them off carefully and pockets them. 

He starts the day by going back to check on the three thugs that attempted to assault him, hoping to question them. This was technically needed to be done yesterday, but the monster just had to put him to sleep for a little while. Izaya makes sure to tread more carefully this time, but his knives are back with him and his mind is a lot less fractured by the newly discovered preference for Shizu-chan’s body, so he feels fresh and mentally sound. He finds the dumpster empty — whoever sent them came back to rescue them, and Izaya investigates the scene to try and pick up any clues. The dumpster’s rod of a lock was pried open with a crowbar, and he notices traces of bullets across it like someone was impatient enough to try shooting the lock open. Izaya smiles to himself knowingly; he can think of a certain someone who would send the lowlifes after him.

It feels unwise to linger at the scene for too long, so he heads to Shinra’s which is just a couple of blocks away. Unlike Shizuo who has completely written off their old classmate, Izaya is still somewhat concerned about why Shinra called them. If Shinra knows about his plans for Nebula, Izaya’s got additional complications that he needs to clear sooner rather than later, and if Shinra doesn’t know, Izaya feels compelled to check up on him anyway, in case his only friend needs something. Namie would probably eat him alive if she heard these thoughts that so closely resemble the norms of friendship, but luckily, she’s gone, and it’s not like Izaya would ever admit to them. It’s inconvenient when people take note of his feelings, because it gives them leverage over him. It’s inconvenient that he has these feelings in the first place, but he does a good job of keeping them on a leash.

On the way there, Izaya thinks about how his injuries have been increasing in number since he’s taken onto this whole ordeal. He feels somewhat safer now with the thought of Shizuo’s backup. He doesn’t doubt that the monster will keep his word, and not because of the new sexual relationship between them. No, it’s because Shizuo, crudely speaking, is entirely defined by laws and principles, and Izaya cannot see a scenario where he breaks a promise, no matter whom he gave it to. He stops to wonder if that assessment of his is also wrong, since Shizuo always acts against his expectations, but that possibility doesn’t worry him. He would prefer it if the promise was broken, because he has a fondness for being betrayed, and it’s always fun to get to play the victim.

Izaya knocks and greets the sleepy doctor with a pie-eating grin when the door opens.

“Oh,” Shinra lets out, blinking the sleep away from his eyelashes. “You know you’re like fifteen hours late?”

“Shizu-chan knocked me unconscious,” Izaya reports and presses a hand against his head to look hurt. 

It’s 100% the truth, but Shinra looks at him with amused skepticism and steps aside to let him in. 

Walking through the familiar apartment, Izaya dives into the couch he likes the most. “I’m pretty hurt — could you look at my injuries?” he asks, while Shinra fumbles to put the coffee on. “Couple scratches, cuts, bruises, maybe a sprained wrist.”

“Sure,” Shinra yawns and shuffles his feet towards his office to get the med supplies.

Shinra isn’t in the least bit angry about them not showing up, but then Shinra doesn’t really ever get upset, not seriously. Unless his dear Dullahan is concerned, of course. Izaya is jealous of that quality of Shinra’s — he wishes he was immune like that, too. The recent “development” with Shizuo further confirms to him just how detrimental relationships can be, and how hard the mind can twist under the pressure of feelings and instinct. If he was as indifferent as Shinra, things would have been that much easier. 

“Is this all Shizuo-kun’s doing?” Shinra asks, working on the small cuts on his face.

“Yes,” Izaya lies without skipping a beat. “So heartless, isn’t he? I didn’t even do anything.”

“Hmm, that seems unlikely.”

“Ah, yes, this is the part where you talk about me being an asshole and how I’m always the one at fault,” Izaya smiles in anticipation.

“No, I mean, it seems unlikely that it happened without a reason,” Shinra explains, tying up the bandage around his arm a little too tightly, and Izaya sends him a dirty look. “You wouldn’t get caught under the usual circumstances.”

“Less thinking, more treating,” Izaya urges him, shamelessly dropping the subject. Shinra mock-salutes him and continues to work.

Eventually he asks Izaya to take his shirt off, and Izaya complies, bracing himself for additional questions. Between bruises that are sexual in nature and his puffed up lips, it’s obvious that he’s recently seen someone. He is thankful that Shinra doesn’t notice that the shirt isn’t Izaya’s; it’s a plain black color, after all, and it’s not unusual for him to be wearing loose garments.

“Did Shizuo-kun do that too?” Shinra asks, pointing to the teeth marks around his upper body and shoulders. There’s a mischievous smile on his lips.

Izaya briefly considers going for a “girlfriend” or “lover” or “one-night-stand”, but that would raise more questions.

“Of course not, that was a client,” Izaya answers nonchalantly and gives Shinra a pointed look that hopefully reads _Don’t ask_. “What did you want to talk about, anyway?” he presses on, before Shinra decides to lecture him on the topic of sleeping around for profit. Not that Shinra cares, but he does like to be a pain in the ass sometimes.

“Ah, yesterday?” Shinra pauses to think. “Well, actually, it was about you and Shizuo.”

Must everything be about Shizuo now? Izaya almost frowns, but he can’t let Shinra pick up on something from his reaction.

“What about us? I think we get along splendidly,” he keeps his lips curled in a smile.

Shinra observes him for a few moments before answering. 

“Your secretary called me. She said some pretty interesting things.”

Izaya is pretty sure he can feel the color draining from his face, but he simply raises an eyebrow. 

“Interesting things?” 

“She said that you care about Shizuo, and that you’re in the process of hurting yourself for him,” Shinra says and laughs a little, because the words sound ridiculous. They really do.

“Ah, poor Namie-san. She’s a little mental recently,” Izaya brushes it off as nonsense.

“I thought so, too, but she kept insisting you were in trouble and that it’s somehow in _my_ best interest to act as an intermediary between the two of you.”

“How strange of you to get involved,” Izaya comments, genuinely surprised. 

Shinra never gets involved in people’s affairs if he can help it.

Shinra shrugs and starts putting away the med kit. Izaya sits still, a little stunned that Namie would reach out to Shinra, and there’s a sigh of relief somewhere in his chest that he and Shizuo never made it to Shinra’s yesterday. He dodged one hell of an awkward bullet. He could only imagine Shizuo’s flummoxed looks if he were to hear that kind of nonsense. 

“Was that all she said?” Izaya tries to sound disinterested, but judging by Shinra’s look, his friend takes note of the question.

“More or less,” Shinra answers evasively.

He adjusts his glasses that slid off his nose and abruptly stands up. Izaya, still seated on the couch, looks up at his friend. There’s a strange tint to Shinra’s eyes, and Izaya can’t quite put a finger on it. He’s never been good at understanding Shinra because much like Simon and Shizuo, he’s also an aberration of sorts. Even more so than those two, because just like Izaya himself, Shinra is a little mis-wired in the brain.

It catches him off-guard when Shinra extends a hand out to ruffle his hair. Izaya’s eyes widen in surprise, and Shinra sighs with a smile that doesn’t quite touch the eyes. 

“Shinra,” Izaya finally finds his voice and tilts his head to break the strange gesture. “You don’t actually believe Namie-san, do you? You should be smarter than that, at least.”

“Of course not!” Shinra chirps, and the tension snaps, much to Izaya’s relief. “But there could be something there, right? After all, you do regularly pull strings with the Tokyo Police Department to make sure Shizuo-kun is not held responsible for all the damage he causes around the city.”

“It’s no fun if Shizu-chan is put in jail,” Izaya shrugs. “It costs me absolutely nothing, really. I’m really good at cards, and one of the detectives still owes me a fortune.”

Shinra shakes his head in mild amusement — as if the idea of acquiring assets through card games is foreign to him. Well, it probably is, sometimes Izaya forgets just how much his life differs from his friend’s.

They spend the next half an hour drinking the coffee, and Izaya fixes himself a quick breakfast in the kitchen. Shinra leaves him alone, excusing himself into the bedroom to check up on Celty. The Black Rider rarely comes out to greet Izaya, usually pretending to be asleep or otherwise busy. 

Before he leaves, Izaya turns around to say one last thing to Shinra. 

“I must say though, Shinra, with friends like you, Shizu-chan is lucky to have an enemy in me.”

He loses his usual smile when he says that, because he wants Shinra to know it’s a serious sentiment.

“The drugs, isn’t it? Celty told me that you know.” Shinra casually rubs his nose, completely unaffected by the menacing tone Izaya worked so hard for.

“I’m a little angry with you is all,” Izaya smiles sweetly. “I haven’t come up with a way to punish you yet, but you should watch out, okay?”

“Oh, stop,” Shinra gasps, waving his hand. “I’ll lose sleep at night.”

!

Anri Sonohara is a beautiful girl with the most sheepish demeanor, and they sit together at a private booth at Russia Sushi. Convincing her to go for a lunch together was easy — all he had to do was hint that it’s in Masaomi Kida’s best interests that she listens to him. Shameless lie, but it could easily be the truth. After all, it’s quite easy for him to think of a way or two to torture poor Masaomi-kun a little more. 

Russia Sushi is a great place to arrange meetings for a number of reasons. First of all, the food is delicious. Secondly, and more importantly, people rightly view the place as a safe neutral territory because no one in their right mind who’s aware of what goes on in Ikebukuro would stir trouble there.

The girl looks at him sternly, her gaze heavy with scorn, and Izaya feels his senses tingling and recharging at the sight of all that. He loves dealing with people who hate him. 

“Full disclosure — I need your help!” Izaya announces the moment they assume their seats.

The girl is taken aback by the sudden declaration, but she regains her composure quickly.

“I wouldn’t help someone like you, Izaya-san,” she says carefully. 

Her words are laced with deep caution, but her manners are impeccable. Japan is a truly interesting country, where hundreds of years of unconditional respect for hierarchy make modern-day teenagers act so courteous towards those they hate, and all of that is just because Izaya is older than her. Even Masaomi-kun addresses him with respect, and that kid probably prays daily for him to meet his untimely demise.

“Say, do you even know where you come from?” 

“Where I come from?” Anri frowns, shifting in her seat. 

“The story behind your mother’s suicide? It’s all rather tragic, don’t you think?”

“That’s low even for someone like you, Izaya-san. Please don’t talk about my family.”

“But it’s the reason I’m meeting with you today. I want to avenge your mother.”

“My mother killed herself. There is nothing to avenge.”

Taking a sip from his glass of water, Izaya begins to tell the girl of what actually happened to her parents. About the yakuza family who sought the little antique shop, but couldn’t get to it because of Sayaka Sonohara’s exceptional swordsmanship. Anri knows about this part and sharply nods; her eyes are a little widened, because she is surprised Izaya knows this much. She shouldn’t be, but then again, the girl doesn’t know that much about information brokers. He goes on to cover the part about her father’s changed behavior, and how the real reason for that were the drugs provided to the yakuza by the Nebula Corporation. This hits the girl hard, and at first there’s wild disbelief — Izaya’s not exactly the kinda guy that screams trustworthy, and she doubts his words. The doubt is only surface-level, because deep inside she suspects it to be true. No one changes overnight from a kind-hearted man into a crazed violent freak that tries to kill his family.

He gives her a moment to recollect her thoughts and retreats into the bathroom. He doesn’t actually need to use it, but it’s important to give fragile people a break.

When Izaya returns to the table, he is mildly surprised not to find any traces of tears in the girl’s eyes. All he sees is composure and calmness, and he mentally applauds her, scolding himself for underestimating the girl who has the strength to rein in Saika.

“Well?” he says, diving into his seat. “How’s that for a story?”

“I appreciate you informing me about it.”

“Consider it a treat,” Izaya waves his hand. “Free of charge.”

She looks at him with disapproval, his jokes falling flat against her serious demeanor.

“I want you to help me take down Nebula.”

“I politely refuse.”

Izaya expected as much. Revenge wouldn’t be a driving factor for a young girl who’s seen so much pain. Luckily, he observes a softer side to the girl that claims to love nobody. He wiggles a small photograph out of his pocket and slides it across the table. He suppresses a smile because this is one of those moments where he needs to look serious.

Anri reluctantly accepts it and scrutinizes the picture of a young dark-haired child.

“Maruyama Ayumi, age nine. Daughter of a prominent banker who’s made quite a few enemies. Some people are extremely easy to buy, you know? The family cook regularly sprinkles the man’s food with the same drug they used on your dad. She’s suffering the same fate as yours, right now, right this second. You’ve made peace with what happened to you, and that’s admirable; it takes a special kind of strength to move on like that. But your past repeats in other girls’ present, and they go through the same pain that shattered your ability to love. Do you think they’re as strong as you? Do you think they’ll have a Cursed Blade to help defend them? If they survive, do you think they will grow up to be as loved as you are, having the moral support of not one best friend, but two?”

He pauses, to let that sink in. The girl reacts negatively to his words, sharply aware that it’s a manipulation. Her frown only deepens, but he can observe some of the ice shattering already.

Of course, the little child’s history is made up. Izaya found and printed a random photo off the Internet the moment he decided to enlist the Cursed Blade’s help. But it could be true, and probably is — if he dug a little deeper, he could probably uncover some heart-wrenching sob-story alike the one he created out of thin air. There is no need to go the extra mile when lies work just as well, though.

“Let me ask you a question,” Izaya continues, once he deems the pause long enough. “Do you think things like this should go on?”

“You’d know my answer to that, Izaya-san,” Anri answers dryly. Her small hands are clasped in tiny fists, knuckles paled.

“Then help me stop them.”

“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” she lets out a heavy sigh. “Things like this shouldn’t happen, but two wrongs don’t make a right.”

Izaya reassures her with a wide smile. “We won’t have to hurt anybody. If their network is crippled enough, they’ll have to pause the production of drugs.”

“Why do you care?” Anri asks. The fire in her eyes is deliciously bright; Izaya can almost see the streaks of red in the pupils, as if the power if the Cursed Blade is dying to wake up.

“Can I pretend I care about the little girls? No? Fine, I won’t,” Izaya chuckles. “The drugs they produce trouble me too, in a different way. I can conjure up to three different reasons why I want them gone. One, they changed one of the things in my routine, and I don’t really appreciate it. Two, they’ve been expanding their influence in our neck of the woods. The way they like to play isn’t quite to my liking. Heard of those kidnappings? Thought so. And the third reason is more philosophical; just like I abhor the power of your Cursed Blade for mind-controlling people, I detest drugs that alter people’s nature without their agreement. If these unfortunate souls wanted the drugs, I’d have no real objection. Slipping them in secretly is kind of unfair though, don’t you think?”

Except for Shizu-chan, of course. That beast is not allowed to change in any way whatsoever, even if he wants it. 

“But it’s not Nebula that gives people the drugs. They simply produce the substance and sell it. Shouldn’t you wage war on those who misuse them?”

Izaya laughs out loud. “I’m not gonna wage war on humanity, I’m on their side. You’re trying to be logical, aren’t you? It’s not guns that kill people, it’s people who kill people! Or something like that. Very nice, Anri-chan, good thinking, I’m very impressed.”

Anri bites her lower lip, unamused by his sarcasm.

“Still, I remain unconvinced. What use do I have for people that are chemically modified to be violently insane? It’s not fun at all. This drug has to be stopped at the source.”

He tilts his head, silently admiring his work. The job is already done, because the moment she learned the whole story, the girl could no longer turn a blind eye to it.

“I’m not that smart…” Anri trails off quietly, looking at her hands. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Leave the thinking to me,” Izaya reassures her. “With the power of your blade, infiltrating the facility should be child's play.”

They fall silent, because Simon walks over to their table and dances around, trying to sniff out the nature of their conversation. The air between the two of them is tense, and Simon gives Izaya a cold glare. Izaya answers with one of his less annoying smiles — there’s no reason to agitate the scary Russian. 

They part ways a little after that, with Izaya promising to keep in touch. Anri looks like she doesn’t look forward to it in the least bit, but she acknowledges it nevertheless.

!

Over the next few days, Izaya meticulously goes over worst case scenarios, planning out _do’s_ and _avoid’s_ , printing out maps of the facility and using his social engineering skills to buy off a number of key people within the place using an alias. His sniffing is done with care, because he’s not about to give an open declaration of war. All he wants to achieve is putting a dent into Nebula’s assets, big enough that they stop their activities in Ikebukuro and focus on rebuilding what gets destroyed.

It’s not like he wants to make an enemy out of them anyway. Despite his passionate speeches to both Akabayashi and Sonohara, all he aims to accomplish is crippling Shizuo’s drug supply — he bets that after his plans go through, Shizuo will want to have nothing to do with the organization.

He spends a fair amount of time in Anri-chan’s company, because they go around and ambush Nebula’s security men when they’re off-duty. It’s rather fun to watch a high-school girl effortlessly overpowering men who are supposed to be armed-to-the-teeth, but it only takes one cut, however shallow, to make them fall to their knees in complete obedience. The last part is disturbing to Izaya; he broods over it for hours after, because the lack of life in the eyes of Saika’s children haunts him. He cannot stand the existence of such an artifact.

When Saika claims control of around 90% of the facility’s security, Izaya thinks that to be enough. Anri’s role is securing the area and evacuating most of the people, while Akabayashi will fulfill the role of neutralizing the people responsible for running the facility. Izaya doesn’t ask what the Red Demon plans to do with them, because he doesn’t care and it’s not his business. 

He actually forgets about Shizuo over these days, so deeply consumed by his thinking process. It has been a long time since he’s taken onto something this big, and he knows there is no room to mess up — he can’t let Anri-chan get hurt (because then he’d make too many enemies - Celty, Akabayashi, Simon), and he can’t let Nebula know who is behind the attack. It’s not a small endeavor, because of the scope and the capacity for human error. 

(Or so he tells himself, because the real reason might have something to do with the fact the last time they were together, Shizuo seemed content with keeping their “arrangement” completely one-sided. He feels irritated by thoughts of this nature and shoves them far into the back of his mind.)

On the fourth day, he spots Shizuo around Russia Sushi. Anri-chan is by his side — they’ve just come back from paying a visit to yet another security guy and are planning to grab dinner, Izaya’s treat. They’ve grown a little friendly over the days — Anri’s softened up to him, sometimes even engaging in conversations about her daily life. He thinks it to be a side-effect of their time spent together. Feeling generous, he warns her not to get too comfortable, reminding her of who he is and what he can do, reminding her of his history with Masaomi-kun. That sobers the girl up a little, but in general she seems to stomach him a lot better than before.

Shizuo doesn’t look amused when he sees Izaya. He walks over, hands in pockets, and Izaya dons his usual smile, the one that people probably think of as “insufferable.” Anri senses the change in the air and is smart enough to escape a dangerous situation when she sees one. “I will see you soon, Izaya-san,” she bows her head before running off.

“What about our dinner?” Izaya exclaims, pretending to be hurt, but the girl sure runs fast when she gets flustered in a social situation. She’s long gone by the end of his sentence.

“Dinner?” Shizuo echoes, and veins pop on his face from all the built-up anger. “The fuck are you doing taking kids to dinner?”

Izaya turns to look at the beast with reproach. “You scared her off, Shizu-chan. Now I’ll have to dine in solitude.”

Shizuo reaches out to grab him, but he ducks, flicking his switchblade open. “Yeah, yeah, stay out of Ikebukuro and all that jazz,” Izaya laughs, waving his hand goodbye. “I’m already on my way.”

And he runs away, because dealing with Shizuo is the last thing on his mind these days, and he prefers it that way. 

!

There’s a strange sense of emptiness that lingers over him, and it’s strongest when Izaya sits alone in his apartment. Memories of his last conversation with Namie play through his head, and he wonders if he said something wrong, but nothing really strikes him as terribly insensitive. He’s said worse, _been_ worse in her presence, but maybe his dear secretary has finally gotten fed up with his antics. 

Izaya briefly considers blackmailing her back, for the sole purpose of her filling the apartment with some presence, but the idea dies in his mind before it has a chance to form into something coherent, the value of promised entertainment being too low. Plus, for once in his life, Namie has more ammunition against him than the other way around, and that thought is both irritating and exciting at the same time.

He logs onto the chatroom, hoping to distract himself and see familiar faces. There’s already a conversation happening, and some of them stop to greet him as he joins. The only one who is remotely pleased to see him is Mikado, and that’s only because the boy still has foolish ideas that Izaya is somehow a good person. Mairu and Kururi are there, too, and he opens a private dialog with both of them.

 **Kanra** : Mairu, Kururi. 

**Kyo** : Ah, Izaya-onii-sama. How very nice of you to grace us with your interest. To what do we owe the pleasure?

 **Kanra** : Save your pleasantries for someone else. I need to use you for something, and you might get hurt in the process.

 **Kyo** : My, my, what a wonderful turn of events. I daresay we hit the jackpot. You know very well what the price will be.

 **Kanra** : Yes, Yuuhei Hanejima's schedule so the two of you can stalk him better. Don’t you have anything better to do?

 **Kyo** : That’s very rich, coming from you. Everything you do is a complete waste of time.

 **Kanra** : Anyway, be on standby for my call. It’ll be dangerous so try to actually listen to me for once this time.

He logs out, not wanting to read any more long-winded sentences from Kururi. His sisters’ gimmicks always irritated him, and he prefers to limit communication with them to a minimum.

!

When his apartment explodes with the thunder of heavy thuds against the front door, Izaya is not _too_ surprised, but there is a shred of relief somewhere in his mind.

He hurries to answer the door before it breaks down under the superhuman strength — he really doesn’t want to have to replace it.

“Make yourself at home,” he sings, sidestepping, and Shizuo stumbles through, almost toppling over because he didn’t account for the door to fling open so fast.

Shizuo walks unstable, slipping side to side, and about five steps in, he lowers himself on the floor. He looks pretty miserable, even for a monster, and Izaya almost feels bad for having done what he did earlier. 

There’s not too much blood, and Shizuo looks relatively unharmed, especially if you consider the amount of people he took on. Izaya thinks he should bring him a wet towel to wipe away the blood, but he knows it isn’t Shizuo’s, and something inside him wells up at the thought of _taking care_ of the monster. It’s not a pleasant feeling, it claws at his insides and forbids him from doing something of the sort.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Shizuo mutters a threat, but it lacks the murderous intent those words used to carry before, when the world was sane. 

Izaya helps him sprawl out on the floor and, against his better judgment, goes to fetch a pillow and a towel. He gently lifts the blond head and slips the pillow underneath. Shizuo’s face is intense and contorted, brows tightly joined together and lips thin. His eyes are shut, but the breathing is shallow and quick, and Izaya knows he’s still conscious.

“How many fucking enemies do you have?” Shizuo growls quietly, opening his eyes enough to focus on Izaya. There’s a healthy amount of hatred in them, and Izaya perks up inside.

“A few, here and there,” he smiles. “Usually they leave me alone, but it was easy to orchestrate a situation where they thought they could actually kill me.”

“You did it _on purpose_ ,” Shizuo spits. “So they’d try to kill me.”

“No,” Izaya denies, softly shaking his head. He quickly works his fingers to unbutton Shizuo’s shirt and cringes a little at the cuts underneath. Maybe some of the blood _is_ Shizuo’s. He traces the warm towel over the small wounds, wiping off the blood. It doesn’t look too bad, but he still feels a little irritated with the beast for getting hurt in the first place, he should be superhuman enough to avoid injuries like this.

“Why bother, Izaya-kun?” he tries to rise, but Izaya places a finger to his forehead to force him back down, and Shizuo complies. “Are you that much of a coward that you can't do it yourself?”

“It wasn’t an attempt to kill you,” Izaya explains, a little miffed by an accusation so old and stale. “I was just testing to see if you’d keep your promise. And you did! I’m _very_ proud of you.”

“I should punch you right now,” Shizuo says, but remains completely still.

Izaya runs his fingers along Shizuo’s legs, making sure they’re whole and uncut, then carefully pushes Shizuo to his side to check the back. Shizuo moves over with a groan, and Izaya finally sees the reason why Shizuo is acting so hurt. There’s a deeper cut on the inside of his thigh, a dark stain on the fabric of the pants.

“Why didn’t you go to _Shinra_?” Izaya hisses. He can deal with the wound, but it’d be safer if Shizuo was in hands more capable.

“’cause all I could see after was your stupid face,” Shizuo mumbles, falling on his back again. “It’s not too bad, I’ve had worse,” he adds, hesitant.

Izaya spends the next hour tending to the wound, disinfecting and stitching, having decided against calling Shinra for a home-visit. There’d be too many questions asked, and Shinra might get the wrong idea if he learns that Shizuo now _saves_ the informant from dangers. The thought itself is still a surprise even to him, but reality is cold and harsh, disinterested in however you may feel about it. No matter how you look at it, Shizuo faithfully followed his promise, even after he saw Izaya running away with an excited smile, looking adorably shocked that Izaya would abandon him just like that. The shock only lasted a second, before he had to deal with the mob of people trying to run past him to get to the informant, and Izaya didn’t linger around to watch the rest.

“Did you expect me to fight with you?” Izaya asks, stifling a giggle. “You looked so bothered when you saw that I was running away.”

“Well, yeah,” Shizuo grumbles and glances away. “Serves me right to expect human decency from someone like you.”

He’s in Izaya's bed now, drowning in pillows and underneath a warm blanket. Izaya sits on the edge, watching the beast with curiosity. Shizuo sure looks overwhelmed by the softness surrounding him, which isn't surprising considering the old metal excuse for a bed back at his own house.

“All your fancy pillows are ruined with blood now,” Shizuo says, looking uncomfortable. “You’re feeling a little guilty, aren’t you?”

Izaya blinks, feigning ignorance. “Guilty?”

Shizuo doesn’t press further. Izaya’s learned a few things about the monster since they stopped actively trying to kill each other, and one of those things is that Shizuo doesn’t talk much. Izaya doesn’t feel guilty, though; he just wanted to see Shizuo in his own bed, for little to no reason at all. 

“My pants,” Shizuo nods at the mess of clothes on the floor. “Pills are in the pocket.”

Izaya slides off the bed and searches for the pills, numbly wondering if he should just tell Shizuo the truth. He finds the bottle and throws it on the bed.

“Why do you take them?” he can’t help asking, watching Shizuo gulp a few pills down with the glass of water Izaya hands to him.

“Life is better now,” Shizuo shrugs. “Don’t go stealing them, okay? It’s a pain in the ass to have to get more.”

There's a note of resignation in the beast's voice, as if he fully expects Izaya to go and do the opposite of what he asks. Izaya drops the subject and slips inside the covers. His limbs are cold as ice, and Shizuo shivers a little on contact. 

“I want to fuck,” Shizuo says in a low murmur when Izaya presses closer against him. “But it hurts to move my legs.”

“I don’t want to _fuck_ ,” Izaya mimics the way Shizuo spits the word. “I’m tired.”

And it’s true, because his eyelids feel like lead weight and it’s impossible to keep them up.


End file.
